For the Want of a Nail
by thewickednix
Summary: Only months before Draco's upcoming initiation to the Dark Side, an unexpected situation in a dark alleyway causes distortion in his plans. Draco is forced to rethink his options of how he is to get through the war on the winning side.
1. Prologue and Chapter 1 Shadowplay

**Title:** For the Want of a Nail  
**Author:** thewickednix  
**Pairing:** Draco Malfoy / Harry Potter  
**Category:** Slash  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Warnings:** Angst, Weirdness, Creature, Violence, Character Death  
**Status:** Complete

**Summary:** Only months before Draco's upcoming initiation to the Dark Side, an unexpected situation in a dark alleyway causes distortion in his plans. Draco is forced to rethink his options of how he is to get through the war on the winning side. Because only one thing is for certain: he will live to see the end of it.

_DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

**Author's notes: **Compliant with OotP, but begins in the middle of 6th year, and is not compliant with HBP. The story is mostly written in Draco's POV, but from time to time one or two of Harry's POVs pop in.

**Prologue**

* * *

I wanted a perfect ending. A clean cut. Now I've learned, the hard way, that the poems don't rhyme. Our stories don't have a clear beginning, a middle, and an end.

Perhaps I was a fool. I should've been smarter than to think that fate would leave me alone so easily. I should've known I couldn't get away with my sins without receiving a punishment. But I was ignorant enough to believe that I could make my own destiny.

In the end, my only sin was to die before I had truly lived.

**Chapter 1. Shadowplay**

* * *

"Mr Malfoy, we're about to close."

I sneer at the gray-haired woman at the counter. "Yes, Madame Malkin," I state coldly, reminding her that the money I have just spent here is well worth her overtime. I hand her the latest of the robes I've tried on and put on my cloak. "Would you be so kind as to send the clothes to Malfoy Mansion when they are ready?" I stalk out through the door without waiting for an answer.

Every other shop in Diagon Alley has already closed. I wrap my cloak tighter around me in the cold winter night and head for the Leaky Cauldron. Damn Madame Malkin for keeping her shop on the other side of town. And damn Mother for not giving birth to me six months earlier so that I could have an apparating license by now. I curse out loud as I head down the dark street in a hurry to get home.

The gray dust of sunset lays upon the town of Diagon Alley. The winter has silenced the streets and the buildings surrounding them. All living noise has disappeared, and all I can hear is my own ragged breathing as I make my way towards the Leaky Cauldron. In spite of the freezing weather I can not help but marvel at the beauty of this white season. This dry, cold time of the year that suffocates all of nature, only to give it a new breath of life.

My breath wheezes, and in the northern wind and lightly falling snow I feel entirely out of place. I stagger past the lake, its water black and ignorant, the stars reflected on its surface looking like worn-out light bulbs. For a moment I stop to wonder if it weren't easier for me just to wade out into the lake's welcoming darkness.

_You bloody coward._

As I walk past the deep black lake and frozen lawns, I go over the events of my life. The twists of fate that have brought me here. I am turning seventeen in June. That means I have five months before I am to be initiated to Voldemort. Five months before I am to become a Death Eater. Five months before ickle Draco Malfoy takes the final step in following his father's footsteps.

Five months before I die.

My thoughts come to an abrupt stop as I from the corner of my eye see a dark figure moving beside me, a dull whooshing sound echoing in the quiet night. I turn around gasping, only to find the street totally abandoned. All of the streetlights are lit, there is no place for anyone to hide. I consider the possibilities of different dark creatures that could hide in the night, slowly pulling my wand out of my pocket.

I chuckle nervously, regretting it the moment the sound escapes my lips. The high pitched laugh echoes in the empty street, seeming to hit every wall, every light pole, every frozen alleyway before disappearing down the street, leaving the air screaming with silence.

Turning back around and continuing my way home, I breathe slowly and fight to walk at a normal speed with steady steps. I laugh silently at myself, what exactly am I afraid of? Who would want to hurt little me?

...Well, don't want to answer that question, now do we?

But no matter how my voice of reason fights for control, I can only hear the adrenaline pumping through my veins. I shiver as I take a look at my surroundings with a frightened glance. The brightness of the lit street makes the darkness around it even more tangible. Who knows what could be hiding in those murky alleyways?

I increase my speed of walking a little, but refuse to give in to my ridiculous paranoia enough to start running. The noisy tap of my shoes against the iced street seems much too loud, yet reason tells me that if my steps can be heard this well, then I can hear anyone approaching me within a mile's distance. The thought calms me down enough for me to slow down my steps, letting my breathing return to normal.

My fatal mistake, it seems.

I barely have time to register something moving towards me before I crash brutally into an alleyway, landing on cold hard concrete. I open my eyes, closed at the impact, only to find my mysterious attacker gone, and my wand disappeared. I manage to find my feet, and take a few staggering steps backwards towards the wall I know is behind me.

But instead of a wall, I suddenly find myself pressed to a human body. The scream escaping me is trapped by a cold pale hand covering my mouth, while I feel a strong arm sneaking around my chest and pulling me towards my attacker.

I struggle to break free, but the person, a man, is much too strong. Suddenly he shifts our positions so that he has me trapped between him and the wall behind me, pressing his hand to my mouth to prevent me from screaming.

This man, I find, is exceptionally handsome. Even in my panicked state of mind I cannot help but to admire the man before me. He is about three inches or so taller than me, and his slim frame doesn't seem to mach the raw strength he obviously possesses. His hair, long and silky, glows like flames in the light of the full moon. His eyes, almond shaped and decorated with pale lashes, stare back at me with the colour of oak, of beer, of dark, dark gold.

The pale man presses one of his thighs between my legs, efficiently trapping me, leering hollowly. I shudder as I am pressed further against the cold brick wall. What does this man want from me? He is obviously not a Death Eater. Perhaps I could rate him as a rapist or something, but he hasn't even got a wand! Who rapes an armed wizard in the middle of freakin' Diagon Alley _without a wand_?!

"Well, well. Aren't you quite a pretty one?" he mumbles, letting go of my mouth to run his palm along my throat, seemingly addressing my neck instead of me. My mouth now released, I would scream if it weren't for the cool hand pressed to my throat, sending shivers down my body and silencing my vocal chords. Instead, I try to look around to see if I might spot my missing wand.

The man chuckles throatily, an unnatural sound echoing in the darkness. The hand that has been caressing my throat moves south to my collarbone, cold fingers slowly tapping their way back up again while the man softly whispers:

"Eeny, meeny, miny moe

Catch the tiger by its toe..."

A finger stops abruptly just below my pulse point, and the man's chest heaves slowly, as if he's taking in an expectant breath of air. Realisation dawns on me. This is no ordinary man.

My eyes dart to those pale lips just to see them parting into a sneer, exposing a set of shiny white teeth. I narrow my eyes, looking for confrontation in the man's face. But I get no reaction; his grin merely grows wider as he leans closer to me, and I instinctively press myself further against the wall, desperately trying to escape.

The man's nostrils flare as he turns my face to the side and leans closer to my throat. I imagine I can see his teeth flash in the dark briefly before his face disappears from my zone of vision. But I have no time to think about that. Because suddenly I feel a sharp, hot, stingy pain on my neck.

I gasp like a drowning man as I feel violent shivers go through my body. Panic taking over, I writhe to break free from the man's, the _vampire's_, grip. I feel him tighten his hold on me, his teeth sinking deeper into my neck. The bite stings and burns violently, in deep contrast to the cool body I am pressed up against. I struggle to get away from that ache, to get away from that burn... To get closer.

All reasonable thoughts seem to escape me. I shudder violently as all the blood from the rest of my body is drawn towards my throat in a wave of immense pleasure stinted with pain. My body feels hot and my legs go weak. I cling desperately to the wall, to the vampire's coat, to anything that will hold me upright, keep me here. Digging my fingers into the vampire's shoulders to keep myself standing, I moan loudly as I suddenly become aware that I am impossibly aroused.

The vampire lets his grip on me ease somewhat, but without his strong arm holding me upright my legs give way and I falter against the brick wall. Startled by my sudden movement the vampire lifts his head from my throat and grabs the front of my jacket to keep me standing. I hear myself moaning at the loss of contact, and turn my head to look at the man who is currently staring at me.

His eyes are a piercing shade of gold, deep like the abyss. His mouth, though, is what draws me in. His formerly pale lips are now tainted with red, and as he sneers slightly I see the bloody fangs his corner teeth have become. Blood. My blood.

I hear someone laughing, and it takes a moment for me to realise it is me. The vampire arches a pale eyebrow and stares at me as if I were completely off my rocker. I probably am. I stifle my laughter and smile at him drunkenly, trying to find the words to elaborate my behaviour. Why I think I should do that, I have no idea.

"I'm sorry," I chuckle, blinking slowly. "It's just that well, here I go, thinking about drowning myself in that lake over there. And the next thing I know, I'm getting killed by a vampire!" I laugh dumbly.

As the vampire just continues to stare at me with a blank expression on his face, occasionally letting the tip of his tongue grace his bloody fangs. I meet his gaze and smile my last wicked smile, closing my eyes and leaning my head back against the wall.

"Well?" I murmur, grinning as I hear the man's sharp intake of breath upon the revealing of my bloody throat. "Isn't this what you came for? Take it."

I barely have time to finish the sentence before teeth sink into my neck once again, and I groan loudly as the vampire presses his body against mine. I feel my eyes grow dim, from the pleasure or the lack of blood, I do not know. Face turned up towards the dark night sky, I smile to myself. As my sight grows black, there is only one thought on my mind.

_This is indeed the perfect way to go._

**TBC**


	2. The Cold Kiss of Dawn

**The Cold Kiss of Dawn**

* * *

I am woken by a blinding light. As my other senses kick in though, I realise I'm hardly staring at the gates of heaven. I doubt one arrives to heaven lying flat on one's back on cold wet concrete.

Focusing my gaze, I find myself staring up at the familiar sign of _Ollivanders_. Groaning as I force myself to sit up, I look around in the alley where I have obviously spent the night.

The narrow passage is completely empty, except for my wand that I see laying about three yards away from me. I shake my head, thanking whichever god that protected me from being killed, lying here in a dark alleyway completely unarmed.

I stop mid-movement, as I realise I _should _have been killed. Slightly panicked I look down at my hands, and then out to the street behind me. Granted, only a few people pass by, as it must still be early morning, but this is definitely Diagon Alley. And I am here, _alive_.

I run a hand trough my hair while I fight to breathe normally. Could it all have been just a dream? Maybe I just slipped, and I hit my head as I fell to the ground?

But my instincts tell me it isn't right. It _was _a vampire that attacked me. I could not make this stuff up.

_Could I?_

Standing up, I brace myself for the back pain and sore limbs that come from being attacked and sleeping in an snowy alley in the middle of December. Strangely enough, the pain never comes. My body feels perfectly fine, even though I just spent several hours lying on the cold ground. I shake my head dismissively and walk over to pick up my wand from the ground. Maybe I really did just hit my head. I mean, I am alive, aren't I? If I actually had been attacked by a vampire, I would now be dead, no?

_Yes, that must be it. I slipped, and the blow to my head made me crazy. No biggie._

I straighten out the front of my robes as I exit the alley, strolling down the main street towards the Leaky Cauldron where I was headed_ last night_. Trying to make myself somewhat presentable, I reach for my hair. But as my left hand brushes by my throat, I freeze in my steps.

There is a dull ache on the side of my neck, and as I feel closer to the centre of the pain... there they are. Two small wounds, an inch and a half apart.

Sweet Merlin.

* * *

I have no recollection of how I made it home after that.

Luckily Malfoy Mansion is large enough so that Mother hadn't even realised I didn't return home last night. I am able to make my way into my room unnoticed.

After locking the door and stripping off my shirt and robes, I step in front of the mirror in the bathroom.

I cannot but to stare at my reflection.

The obvious changes are the two punctured holes on my throat, surrounded by a small patch of reddened skin. But as I look closer, I see that my hair, which before always has been the clean colour of platinum and ice, is now mixed with pale shades of red. It is also longer, almost shoulder length. And though my skin always has been pale, it is now if possible even paler, almost luminous. My eyes are basically the same silver colour they have always been, though now flecked with spots of darker grey, and my pupils are unusually dilated.

My face itself looks as if carved out of stone, white and refined. Dead. I try to examine my teeth for any change, but they are the same as they've always been, if a shade whiter.

I grab the green marble counter for support as I shake my head in frustration. What is happening to me? I could brush it all off if it weren't for the puncture wounds and the change in hair colour. That just isn't normal.

I look into the mirror again, sighing defeatedly. Obviously the vampire bit me, long enough for me to pass out. How can I be alive? Why would he leave me to live? And if he _did_ bite me and leave me alive on purpose, that would mean that...

Well, we don't want to think about what that means.

I avert my gaze to my mouth again. I bare my teeth in a predatory grin, but nothing changes. No fangs, nothing. I close my eyes run one hand though my ragged hair whilst gripping the counter harder with the other. What the hell is wrong with me?

A loud crack startles me from my musings. I lower my gaze only to see a chunk of marble in the hand that was just gripping the counter. Letting go of the stone as if burned, I lean against what's left of the counter, hearing the loud thunk of the marble hitting the floor.

_This cannot be happening._

Staring from at my hand, then at the ruined table, and at my hand again, I feel the adrenaline pump through my veins at superspeed. Turning back to the mirror once more, I bare my teeth.

_Come on, come on, show me them._ I chant silently.

And suddenly, a vampire is staring back at me from the mirror. It is not a big change, but a change nonetheless. I let the tip of my tongue grace my fangs, just to make sure they are really there. And they are. Until I will them to disappear again.

Terrified but the same time enchanted by my new powers, I spend the whole day exploring them. Not just the obvious ones like the fangs and the hair colour, but the others. I find that I really am inhumanly strong; ripping the thick oak bathroom door from its frame was child's play. For a moment I am so blinded by my new apparel and skills that I forget the reason for them.

But then, the house-elf Tilby brings me my lunch. And I cannot get down a bite. Even the smell of that beautiful roast beef makes me nauseous. Looking into the large mirror on my bedroom wall, I realise that I have been a fool. These powers are not amazing and enchanting. They're disgusting. I'm not even human any longer. I am nothing but a monster.

And it hits me, and I can only laugh at the irony of it all. I had been planning my own demise for months now. I wanted to die so desperately. And now...

Now I am immortal.

**TBC**


	3. Flightless Bird

**Flightless Bird**

* * *

The Hogwarts Express seems never to have made its way over these moors as fast as it now does, and yet the journey has never been this agonizingly slow. I watch the never ending sceneries change before me, like the images I replay my sixteen-year old life in.

Looking down at my scarred wrist, I sigh. How has it all come to this?

I have found it apparent that vampires can't commit suicide. At least not in any usual way, considering the fact that we do not bleed. Technically I could just cut open my chest and carve out my heart. But I'm sure that would be unnecessary painful considering the fact that it probably would be nothing but another miserable failure.

I run my hand though my hair, which I have cut to the same short hairdo I had before all of this shit.

_How has my life come to this?_

Realizing that we are approaching Hogwarts, I stand up on weak legs to change into my school robes. I feel pathetic, being so weak that I can barely stand without passing out. Still, it's better than the alternative.

Though my body screams for the release of drinking blood, my brain is still strong enough to prevent me from killing anybody. I don't know how I am going to make it through sleeping in the dorm, when getting on the train without jumping somebody's neck was nearly unbearable.

I know I should tell somebody. My parents. Or Severus. But Merlin, Lucius would only give me as a weapon to the Dark Lord. And my godfather, well... He would lock me up. For my own safety, yes, but nevertheless. It really leaves me with only one option.

I have to talk to Dumbledore.

* * *

Shaking legs carry me up the stairs to Dumbledore's office. Standing outside the door I ask myself one last time if I am making a wise choice.

_Certainly not._

From behind his desk, Dumbledore smiles at me warmly. As if he'd known I would pay him a visit.

Well, who's to say he didn't?

"Young Mr Malfoy," The old man smiles, eyes twinkling behind half moon spectacles. "What can I do for you? I do hope you haven't gotten yourself into trouble already. The Yule Holidays have barely ended."

I hold my posture. "I have no time to lose, Headmaster. I need your help."

The old man's smile fades a tad at this, and he gestures for me to take a seat at the chair in front of the desk.

"Would you care to elaborate, Mr Malfoy?" he asks, breaking eye contact nonchalantly to conjure a tea set.

Offence is the best defence, eh?

"Considering that he is currently residing in Azkaban, I am positive you know already, sir, that my father is one of You-Know-Who's closest followers. His right hand man, one might say," I state in a challenging manner to get spurt into this conversation.

Dumbledore just keeps smiling merrily at me. "Yes, Mr Malfoy. I did know. Alas, I am intrigued. Why are you telling me this?" his eyes twinkle my way again, before he once again turns to his tea pot. "Would you care for some tea?"

I almost retch at the idea of having to swallow the vile liquid. Even so, I manage to keep my declination polite. "No thank you, sir. My incapacity to accept leads me to the real problem," I inform the Headmaster, who has now gained a small furrow between his brows.

"Please continue, Mr Malfoy."

"Yes, sir," I croak, my voice suddenly betraying me. You see, Headmaster, during the Holidays, I visited Diagon Alley one night. And, well... I was attacked." Looking down at my pale hands, I find myself unable to continue.

The old coot's reaction to my story so far is close to nil. Only a slight raising of one eyebrow indicates that he even heard me. "By whom were you attacked, Mr Malfoy? Not by a Death Eater, I'm sure?"

"If only it had been." I release a small chuckle, and the Headmaster furrows his brow deeper at that. Knowing I have to get this over with, I take a deep breath. "I was attacked by a vampire, sir."

Finally, the old fool shows some kind of human reaction. His eyes grow wide as he repeats my statement. "You were attacked by a vampire."

"Yes, sir," I nod, not caring to elaborate further. I know Dumbledore has already understood.

And I am right. "How do you handle feeding, Draco?" Oh, it's _Draco_ now, is it? Fancy that. I feel almost as special as Saint Potter himself.

I sigh. "I don't. That is why I need your help, Headmaster. I will not kill anyone just for me to feed. But an immortal starving himself to death... it's not pleasant."

The Headmaster seems a little sickened by my gory statement. I would be lying if I said I didn't find any joy in being the one to rip that merry expression from his features.

As he does not answer immediately, I take the opportunity to continue. "Hence, I ask to join your side in this war, Headmaster. I know I could be to great use by making potions, not to mention my new-acquired strength and speed in battle. What I ask in return is sanctuary, and that the affair of my feeding could be solved. By blood donations for example, or something similar."

Dumbledore is quiet for a long moment. "The public will not be happy about the light side having a vampire working with them."

I snort exaggeratedly before responding. "They'll be happy enough when we win the war."

* * *

Our eyes lock for a second in the hall. He turns away fast, avoiding the fight that is expected to occur whenever we meet. Weasley says something and laughs with the decibel of a rabid dog barking, completely ignoring the fact that Potter is barely listening to him. Granger drops a book, and blushes to the roots of her bushy hair as Weasley picks it up for her.

I shake my head slowly, avoiding to look at the Golden Trio as I pass them by to return to the safety of the dungeons. Not even my House is what it used to be. I used to feel at home here. Safe.

Now I am haunted even by these walls. By my father. By Voldemort. By what I've become. By what my future will hold. By Potter.

Potter has changed. It's been a while since I've seen him smile. Really smile. Like he smiled when he won his first Quidditch game. Like he smiled when he first flew his Firebolt. Like that time when he'd beaten the dragon.

That smile that turns the wizarding world around is faltering. His innocence is fading. He's coming to realise the dirty truth of war. He believes he is responsible. He believes that all those people are dying because of him. I can see it in his eyes. I can smell it in his scent.

Potter is dying. Of guilt.

* * *

This is it. I'm on my way to an Order meeting. Dumbledore told me to come to his office at 11 pm. So either we're going to the meeting, or the old man has decided to take me out on a late night rendezvous.

"Draco, I am pleased to see you are on time. We have to leave immediately." Dumbledore states his hurried greeting as I enter his office. He reaches out his arm for me. "I take it you have side-along apparated before?"

"Yes, sir," I answer. I bypass the temptation to inform the Headmaster that though I may not be seventeen for a couple of months yet, I have known how to apparate for three years. I hesitate in taking Dumbledore's offered arm, fearing anyone's reaction to my cold hand. The Headmaster pays no mind to my hesitation, but grabs my arm firmly to prove to me that I should not fear him. when clutching to Dumbledore's arm, I suddenly realise that no one should be able to apparate from Hogwarts.

A useless thought. The next thing I know I am standing on a cold, dark Muggle street. Dumbledore hands me a paper, a handwritten note.

_Grimmauld Place 12_

As soon as I have read the note, it goes up in flames. A large black house appears between two others right before my eyes.

_Ah, Fidelius Charm, then. _

Dumbledore doesn't say a word as we stalk over to the house. The large wooden door opens into what obviously is a very old wizarding home. The hallway is dark and damp, lit only with two ancient gas lamps. A big canvas covers the wall behind the stairs. Though the hall is empty, I hear muffled voices from behind two doors I can only presume lead to the dining room.

I follow Dumbledore to those doors, thinking my steps against the dusty dark floor sound like canon shots in the night. Dumbledore walks through the door before me and I hear cheers and what I recognise as Mr Weasley's voice.

"Albus! Glad you could make it. Should we begin the meeting, then?"

I can hear the smile in the Headmaster's voice as he answers. "Yes, we should indeed. We have much to discuss tonight." He then turns smiling towards me, and takes a step to the side so that I will come in view of everyone.

The room becomes completely silent.

**TBC**


	4. Toy Soldiers

**Toy Soldiers**

* * *

They are all sitting around a big, dark, wooden table. Mr Weasley looks like he might fall off his chair. Mrs Weasley, who is currently serving coffee to her husband is shaking so badly she needs to grab the table for support. A woman with appalling purple hair has tripped over a carafe with pumpkin juice, and is in such a shock that she doesn't even notice the red liquid pouring down onto her lap.

A chubby and dirty man, who reminds me disgustingly much of Pettigrew, is the only one who doesn't seem to react. That on the other hand might have something to do with the fact that he is currently filling his pockets with the silverware from the table.

The Muddblood is grabbing the book she is holding so hard her knuckles are whitening, while Weasley's jaw is about two inches off the floor. Potter is staring at me with eyes the size of saucers, stirring his cup of coffee frantically. And then, I see Severus, who has just walked into the room from the kitchen, staring at me as if he has seen a ghost.

No one says a word.

"Albus, why is he here?" my godfather finally croaks, still staring at me as if I will turn to dust as soon as he looks away.

Before Dumbledore has time to answer, though, I see a shadow approaching me from the side. Weasley lunges pathetically past me as I take a leisurely step backwards to avoid him. The red-head does a U-turn and jumps my throat again, this time without me making any move to stop him.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing here, Ferret? Sticking your ugly nose in here too to get hold of information that'll get you in favour of daddy's master, eh?" He is only inches from my face, roaring at the top of his lungs as he presses his arm against my throat. As if I needed the air anyway. I snicker to myself, knowing that I could rip that arm off with ease.

I do not fight back however, knowing that that would look bad for me. Besides, Merlin knows what I could do if Weasley were to draw blood in our fight. The thought of drinking a Weasley's blood is almost too disgusting to bear.

I swallow, Weasley's raging blood pulsing too loudly through his veins, too close for comfort. I reach out and grab Weasley's wrist, removing his arm from my throat with ease. I wouldn't have needed to use much force anyway, as soon as my hand touches his bare skin, Weasley bounces back with a gasp.

With Weasley staring at me and gasping like a goldfish on dry land, Dumbledore's voice seems miles away.

"Ron, that's enough."

It seems not even the Weasel is dumb enough to oppose the Headmaster's orders. He returns to his seat, however reluctantly, rubbing his wrist absent-mindedly.

"Come over here, Draco. Sit down." Dumbledore gestures to one chair at the end of the table, and takes a seat in the one next to it.

Face an ignorant mask, I approach the table. Weasley has sat back down and is keeping quiet now, face still as red as ever.

Everyone else is still silent, waiting for Dumbledore to explain. Fortunately, for once he begins without any ado.

"Draco came to me a week ago with a request to join the Order. After listening to his reasons, I could not deny his request," the Headmaster begins, but pauses to accept a cup of tea from Mrs Weasley.

"Thank you, Molly." He sips his tea for a minute, before putting it onto the table and crossing his hands. "You see, Draco was supposed to be marked as a Death Eater in June."

A low murmur fills the room. I snort, as if the information was surprising to anyone. It is the woman with the ghastly hair who speaks up first. " 'Was supposed to'? What changed?"

I narrow my eyes. Something is off about this woman. As she leans slightly closer to hear the Headmaster's response, I catch a sniff of her scent. There is something very familiar about it. I'm just about to ignore it when she raises her hand to brush her shoulder length hair behind her ear to reveal her throat. I raise an eyebrow in confusion.

"You are related to me."

All heads turn towards me as I watch the purple haired woman intently. She stares at me for a second before regaining her composure.

"Yes, I'm Nymphadora Tonks. My mother is Andromeda Tonks, née Black."

I nod shortly. With that hair, I should've guessed that this is the Metamorphagus daughter of my aunt and that Muggle she married.

Potter stares at me in as much confusion as the others. "How did you know?"

I give him a blank look. "I had a hunch."

Some of the people at the table are about to protest, but Dumbledore cuts them off with a cough. "Gentlemen, -and ladies," he adds as Hermione and Tonks snort. "May we please proceed to the actual--"

I cut off the Headmaster by standing up rapidly from my chair. A mere reflex from hearing someone enter the house and approach the dining room. My instincts tell me that this is no ordinary guest. Every hair on my body is suddenly standing and my muscles are rigid and ready for a fight. And I suddenly realise what is wrong with the newcomer.

I turn towards the door just in time to see the handle being pushed down. Within a second from the opening of the door I have the newcomer thrown to the wall with one arm, fingers pressed to his throat.

"Werewolf," I can but hiss, and I see the man's brown eyes stare back at me in horror. I suddenly recognise him as Professor Lupin, the DADA teacher from third year, but the notion does nothing to make me ease my grip. For all I now know is that this man is a werewolf, a beast as much as I am, and no less dangerous. My need for self-preservation tells me to off this monster when-

"Draco," I hear Dumbledore's voice from behind a thick veil it seems, and suddenly I am drawn back to reality. "Let him go."

Narrowing my eyes at the werewolf one last time, I let go of his throat, and see him lean against the wall as his legs give way. Ignoring my enemy, I turn my anger towards Dumbledore.

"Who are you to tell me what to do? He is a werewolf, he should be killed as soon as possible," I hiss between clenched teeth at the Headmaster, who doesn't even blink.

"That is what most people would say about you, Draco," he merely retorts, a twinkle in his eyes.

I feel the rage take over and a split second later I am standing face to face with Dumbledore, my face inches from his. "_I _can control my... problems. _He_, on the other hand," I gesture towards the pathetic lump still leaning at the wall, "loses his whole self as he transforms. If someone were to get in the way of that... it wouldn't be pretty. He should. Not. Be. Here."

The old fool does not budge. "Draco, Professor Lupin is one of our oldest members. His condition is well taken care of. You have no reason to worry."

I stare at Dumbledore for a minute before the vampire in me gives up. A terrible nausea starts churning in the pit of my stomach. I turn and walk towards the large window on the other side of the room, far away from both the werewolf and the dining table. Panic fills my insides as I think about the fact that I almost just killed a man. An ally, at that. I cross the last yard to the window in a jump that lands me on the wide window sill. As my breath speeds up, I fight to get the window to open. Tears stream down my face as I claw frantically at the handle, leaving deep marks in the dark wood. Finally, the large window opens. I lean out through the window, feeling sick but of course unable to empty my stomach.

Eventually my breathing returns to normal. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and turn back towards the others.

They have gotten the werewolf to sit down at the table, but no one is saying anything. Everyone is just staring at me in deep shock.

I cross the floor on shaky legs, feeling the anxiety and lack of food wearing me down. I notice everyone shift in their seats as I approach, so I stop in my tracks a yard or so from the table.

I take a deep breath and brace myself for the inevitable humiliation of an apology. "I am sorry that I accosted you, Professor. It was not my intention, I just let my instincts run away with me. It will not happen again." Clenching my jaw, I fight to keep my word and to not react aggressively to the scent of the werewolf at the table.

Before Lupin has time to open his mouth, Dumbledore speaks. "You must excuse Draco, Remus. He has had a rough couple of weeks."

Giving me a wary look, the werewolf turns towards the Headmaster. "Albus, what in the world is going on? That boy's strength is not normal. And his scent, it's odd. I can't interpret it, it's... just _off_."

Dumbledore nods understandingly before gesturing for me to take my place next to him again. I look warily at the people around the table, still staring at me in confusion and fright. "I think I'd better just stand here for a while. I don't know if I should be that close to all of you yet. My emotions are still running wild and... I'm just not sure if I can control myself properly right now. Just give me a minute."

The confusion at the table intensifies, and everyone's eyes shift from me to Dumbledore and back again as if watching a silent ping-pong game. Dumbledore just nods, and turns back to the others.

"You see, in the end of the Yule Holidays, Draco was in Diagon Alley. There was an accident." Everyone looks at me with a furrowed brow, and I can't help but snort. "Accident, my arse."

After silencing me with a stern look, the Headmaster continues. "He was attacked... by a vampire."

A stunned minute of silence before exclaims and uproars fill the room, and I fight to keep my face neutral as everyone turns to stare at me.

"He- he can't have been!" I turn to look at Weasley's horror stricken face and raise an eyebrow. "He wouldn't be alive if he were!"

I can't but snicker at the fool's attempt to deny what is on everyone's lips already. I inspect one of my hands pale nonchalantly as I respond. "Who said that I am alive?" And before anyone has time to react, I raise my hand to my throat and slice my pulse point with my sharp thumb nail.

A shocked uproar echoes through the room as everyone rises from their seats. As they rush towards me, only two notice that I am neither bleeding nor writhing in pain, and freeze in their steps. I turn my gaze from Severus to Potter, who is staring at my throat as if I were growing a second head there, before averting his gaze to my face. Our eyes lock, emerald with the silver grey I know Potter recognises. I see something in that gaze, something beyond the hate and fright and shock I see mirrored in everyone else's eyes.

Recognition.

Because he knows how I feel, doesn't he? How it feels not to be living, yet not dead. Breathing, but hollow. Buried alive.

The spell breaks as everyone reaches me, Mrs Weasley attacking me with a towel and her wand raised, shrieking "Oh you poor boy, what have you done?" I stand still and wait for the revelation. One minute, I have five hundred hands on me, voices repeating that 'it'll all be OK'. And the next I know the hands are withdrawn as if burned, while the room grows dead silent.

"Wha--" I hear Mr Weasley stammer as he looks at me throat which should be covered with blood

"You don't bleed...!" Granger mutters as she approaches me anew, staring into my eyes with both fright and excitement. "Your hair has changed colour, too," she states while gripping my chin gently and tipping my head to the side, to get a better view of my cut throat. Then she reaches to touch my hand gently. "You have cold hands..." I feel a trembling thumb caress the wound on my neck as the girl whispers "...You're a vampire, aren't you?"

**TBC**


	5. Half a Person

"...You're a vampire, aren't you?"

Well, bravo. Genius of the month.

It takes a minute for the words to register, and the second they do, Granger is tugged backwards by Weasley as everyone backs away from me.

"Get out of here, you monster!" Weasley hisses, pushing in front of Granger to shield her from me.

I snort at his ridicule. "You think you can protect her from me, Weasley?"

Weasley's eyes widen in shock and he takes a step backwards. I can smell his fear, his and the others'. Their blood pumping rapidly through their bodies as they grip their wands in a feeble attempt to make themselves believe they could defend themselves from me. Fools.

I take a step forward, and watch the group take two steps back. "You think that if I _wanted_ to attack her, that you would be able to protect her?" I throw my head back in a clinging, cold laugh. "You are all fools, believing that you could fight me off with a wand if I intended to attack you." I smile a vicious smile at the group of terrified wizards. As fast as I can I lunge around the table where Potter, Severus and Dumbledore are still seated. I stop to stand directly behind Mr Weasley and my supposed cousin.

"Do you really think you could catch me?" I ask, drawing a shriek from the entire group. Tonks and the older Weasley look as if they are about to faint as they turn around and find me sneering at them.

"Draco, I think this is quite enough." I hear Dumbledore state from the table, where he is still seated, sipping his tea calmly. I nod curtly and walk over to sit down beside the Headmaster, who smiles at me before turning to the others still standing. "Would you please take your seats? Draco is harmless-" I snort and receive a stern gaze from my godfather "If he wanted to hurt any of us, he would've done so already."

A few mutter in agreement, mainly Mr Weasley and Granger, but the others still look very doubtful. They all sit back down in their seats though, warily watching my every move.

"What do you want with the Order?" Tonks ask suspiciously, casting fast glances at me as if uncertain if it's safe to look me in the eye.

"Frankly, I had little choice." I lean back into the chair and cross my arms. "I was to join the Dark Lord upon my seventeenth birthday in June, but I realised that when finding out about my... condition, my father would send me to his master immediately. For much more gruesome purposes than being a mere Death Eater."

"A vampire would indeed be a much more powerful weapon for the dark side than we can afford to grant them." Mr Weasley answers thoughtfully, accepting another cup of tea from his wife.

"Indeed." I state, watching the other wizards intently. "And as much as I was raised up to stand on the Dark Lord's side, I do not wish for him to win this war. So here I am, offering my services to you instead."

"What do you get out of this?" I hear Granger's voice from the other end of the table. I narrow my eyes at her as she continues. "Even if you do not wish to join Voldemort," I hiss slightly at his name. "you could just leave, run away. Why would you stay and fight for a bunch of people whom you don't even like?"

My lips crack into a twisted smile as I narrow my eyes further. "Good thinking, Granger. Yes, it would in fact have been easier for me to run away. After all, not even Father could track down a vampire, even if it were his own son." I place my hands on the table as I continue, disgusted by what I am forced to say next. "But you see, there is a small detail that eliminates that plan."

My godfather sighs. "Your feeding."

Meeting his gaze steadily, I nod softly. Everyone else at the table are looking confused and very uncomfortable about the subject of my feeding, and so I continue. "I did not ask to become what I am, and I have no intention to kill people just so that I could feed." I look down at my pale hands, only vaguely aware that I am still speaking. "Though I am now immortal, and will not die of starvation even if I do not feed, it is not so easy as to plainly go on a hunger strike. When not being able to feed, I grow weak, my body seems to be falling out from under me. This will continue until I am not able to do anything else but to lie still in a bed, throat burning and gut aching from the thirst. And that is to be my lot until someone is kind enough to plunge a wooden stake into my chest."

The room is silent as the slightly green Order members ponder upon what has been said. It is Mrs Weasley who finally opens her mouth to break the silence.

"So what part does the Order play in this?"

"He wants our blood." Granger pipes up, drawing gasps from the other members. "Am I right?" she demands, furrowing her brow at me.

I try to concentrate on my answer. But with all the wizards in this room scared and angry, all I can focus on is the blood running furiously through their bodies. Their faces are flushed red from anger, and I can but close my grip the table frantically to keep me from lunging at anybody's throbbing pulse point.

"Would... would you please calm down?" I mumble desperately, my grip on the counter tightening.

"Calm _down_? You expect us to calm down when knowing that you want to rip our throats out?!" Weasley screams, leaning over the table as he roars, as if the words would reach me better.

"Ron!" his father exclaims.

But it doesn't help. All I hear is the furious pulsing in the Weasel's veins, and that is the last drop. I feel the wood crack under my hands and I throw myself from the table and into the furthest dark corner of the room to get away from them. My head aches with the dull throb of blood rushing through their veins, so loud I believe my head might implode. I claw at my throat to stop the excruciating thirst that demands their blood. I feel my fangs appear, and I push myself further into the dark corner, wondering when I started screaming.

Suddenly I am startled by finding my somebody grab my hands and prying them away from my throat. My screams turn to whimpers and I open my eyes to find Granger staring back at me, compassion in her brown eyes.

I hear everyone else in the room draw a sharp breath as Granger lets go of one of my hands and turns her arm so that her bare wrist is right in front of my face. Somebody shouts something, and I think it's Weasley, but all I can think of right now is the scent of the blood that is being offered to me.

Slowly I reach for the offered hand, glancing at Granger for confirmation that this is really what it seems. She nods slowly and shifts in her position, sitting on her knees so that she is close enough, but not too close, to me.

I gently pull her hand to my lips and lap at the blue vein there, casting Granger a final look.

"Tell me when to stop." I whisper, before baring my teeth and sinking them into the soft flesh.

Her body shudders slightly and a pained gasp escapes Granger's lips, but her hand is kept perfectly still. It is a good thing, for as soon as the warm liquid touches my lips I cannot let go. The blood fills my mouth and spills down my throat, filling my stomach with its wonderful metallic weight.

Soon I notice a different apprehension in Granger's body. She has stopped shuddering in repressed pain and started fidgeting instead. I hear her breathing heavily, and as soon as I have drank enough blood to soothe my strongest need, I raise my gaze to look at her.

The girl is still sitting on her knees, but she is now leaning slightly forward on her other arm, head bowed towards the floor and eyes closed. I suddenly remember what happened with me when the vampire attacked, and I am shocked to realise that Granger is actually _aroused_ by this.

Fortunately the though has no time to go any further. Granger has started swaying and I realise that the blood loss is making her weak. A few more gulps of the warm liquid and then I withdraw my teeth from her flesh, lapping at the puncture wounds to stop their bleeding.

As I let go of Granger's arm, it seems as if she is woken from a daze and she raises her head to look at me with clear eyes, her breathing ragged and her face flushed.

"Thank you." I nod, determined to show my gratefulness by not making Granger's reaction into more than it is: just a reaction. One of a vampire's weapons. I stand up from the floor, brushing the dust off my robes, and offering my hand to Granger. She smiles weakly and grabs it, standing up onto shaky legs, muttering a soft "you're welcome".

I now notice that all of the other people in the room are still staring at us. Apart from Dumbledore of course; the Headmaster is still sipping his tea merrily.

Each and every one of them are looking at Granger as if they are uncertain if they should be worried that she's going to lose consciousness, or scared that she's going to turn into a vampire herself. Weasley is staring at me as if he'd like to rip my head off, but he keeps glancing at the destroyed table edge, so I guess he realises that that is likely what would happen to him if he tried. Potter, to my confusion, looks a lot like Granger does. His face is flushed and a small blush is creeping up his neck. His eyes are a little hazy, but he refuses to meet my gaze.

"You should sit down." I tell Granger, who's face is still decorated with a bright blush. I lick my lips before turning to the rest of the crowd.

"I apologize for my behaviour. But in my defence, it's been two weeks since I was turned and I had not fed once. My self-resolve was starting to get pretty weak."

Feeling new power fill me from the blood, I take a new breath and continue. "I know that it is scary and a lot to take, but I would only have to feed once a week to keep myself healthy." I look around at the grim faces to stop at Potter's now slightly less flushed one. "If I were to feed off a few of you, and those few would take turns, then there would be more than a month between the turns." I quiet down to receive my jury's verdict.

"Draco is correct." my godfather murmurs, looking at the others. "It would hardly interrupt anybody's life at all, and think about of how much use he would be on the battlefield."

I smile at Severus, grateful for his support, though it was to be expected.

"Besides," Mr Weasley pipes in, "it's bad policy to turn down anyone wanting to join the Order. We need all the help we can get."

"But what if he attacks someone?" Weasley exclaims, clenching his fists. "How can we be certain that he won't suddenly go on a killing spree?"

"Yes," the Pettigrew look-alike narrows his eyes at me. "It's not like any of us could fight him off."

To my surprise, it is Potter who comes to my defence. He sighs heavily and crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Didn't the two of you see what happened to that table? Don't you realise that Malfoy did that 'cause he was fighting _not_ to attack any of us."

"Well, there you go!" Weasley shouts, pointing at me in fury. "If it's that hard for him to stop himself from making one of us his meal, then he shouldn't be here!"

I sigh exaggeratedly, startling everyone. "Are you a complete idiot, Weasley?" I ask, and silence his protest with a stern look. "I asked all of you to calm down, didn't I? Don't you realise that I can smell all of your blood, and when you get agitated the scent gets stronger? Stronger and also harder to resist." I narrow my eyes at Weasley and the rat faced man who now both look embarrassed.

The silence grows thick until Dumbledore breaks it by suddenly setting down his cup on what's left of the table and standing up from his chair.

"So, it is settled, then?" he smiles in a grotesquely happy way, tapping his fingers enthusiastically. "Why don't you decide who are going to be the donors while Draco swears the oath with me?"

Without waiting for a response, he then strides out of the room, leaving for me only to follow him and for the others only to do as ordered.


	6. Things Happened that Way

"So..." Mr Weasley begins, rubbing his hands together anxiously. "I guess we have to decide on who are going to be Mr Malfoy's donors."

Snape sits down at the ruined table and taps his fingers on the wood. "The youths are the best option; they have the cleanest blood."

Hermione nods calmly while Ron looks as though he is about to explode. "What! Should I become a meal ticket to that slimy-"

"Ron!" Mrs Weasley exclaims, appalled of her son's bad behaviour. "How can you be so inconsiderate? The poor boy has enough to deal with as it is, without you throwing sticks in the wheels!"

I can't help but snicker to myself. It seems that I am no longer the only one to be called "that poor boy". I wonder what Malfoy would think if knowing that he is bunched up with the 'Golden Boy'?

"Actually, Mr Weasley," Snape mutters, staring at Ron as though he was a bug needed to be squashed. "I doubt Draco would ever even consider feeding off you, so I believe you are safe."

Ron seems relieved, until he notices that there might have been an insult in that sentence. Before he has time to recover however, Tonks pipes in.

"What about me?" she asks Snape. "Am I considered a youth or not?"

Snape considers the question for a minute before answering. "Considering that you are below thirty, I would say that you should be a donor. But because you are related to him, I doubt that it would be a good idea."

"Why does relation matter?" Hermione asks, and I stifle the urge to laugh. Even in this situation she acts as if she were in class, quill and parchment at the ready.

"Because," Snape begins, sneering at Hermione in a very Malfoyish way. "Tonks is of blood relation with Draco, which means that their blood is similar in context. That means that Draco could not get all of the energy he needs from it, because he already possesses some of the materia in the blood. If he were to feed from Tonks, he would have to do it two to three times a week instead of one."

"So what, that just leaves me and 'Mione?" I ask, raising an eyebrow at the Professor.

"But Harry!" Ron exclaims, gripping my arm. "You can't be a donor, what if he kills _you_? Then the war would be lost just because we have to feed that... -that _freak_!"

I consider the possibility for a moment, before twisting my arm out of Ron's grip. "Dumbledore would never let that happen," I say, fully aware of how naïve I sound. I then turn to Ron and mumble in a low voice; "Besides, do you _really_ want to send Hermione to Malfoy weekly?"

Ron goes very pale for a second, then shakes his head violently before declaring me right. I feel the need to cheer, though I don't quite know why. Why would I be happy to play Malfoy's canteen every other week? Especially after my reaction to today's display.

I blush again as I think about what happened. I had never considered Malfoy anything but a slimy miniature Death Eater, but... God, the greed with he drank down the blood with, and the effect it obviously had on Hermione. How I had wished to be there in her place! And when Malfoy then stood up, a small drop of blood still on his lower lip, he looked transformed. The skinny, ragged boy who had walked into the room an hour earlier had suddenly turned into a very handsome youth. His skin was practically glowing, pearl white and luminous.

I couldn't look into his eyes, I knew if I did, he would know. He would know that I just got a hard-on watching him _eat_ off of one of my best friends. How twisted is that?

I turn towards Hermione, and see her staring out the window, starry eyed and a small blush gracing her cheeks. Somehow I feel a green eyed monster evolving in the pit of my stomach. Why should Hermione look like that? She's supposed to get together with Ron, marry and have a dozen red-headed big toothed kids. She's _not_ supposed to look like that when thinking about _Malfoy_!

_I'm not supposed to be thinking like this about Malfoy._

"So, do we have a decision?" Mr Weasley asks, looking each of us in the eye. Everyone nods quietly, and Mrs Weasley turns to look at the Grandmother Clock on the head wall of the room.

"My, it's almost 2 am!" she exclaims. "You'd best be getting back to Hogwarts, children. Tomorrow's a school day."

Ron is about to protest, but I mumble a "Yes, Mrs Weasley," and drag Ron towards the door, Hermione in tow.

As we pull on our cloaks in the hall, Ron keeps muttering.

"I can't believe they still won't let us stay for the whole meeting! We're sixteen now, we're old enough!"

A loud snort echoes through the hall, followed by Malfoy's drawl: "Well, Weasley, maybe if you acted like an adult once in a while, they'd treat you like one."

Malfoy sweeps down the stairs towards us silently as a ghost, and Ron grits his teeth. "What did you say, Ferret?"

Malfoy sneers back at him, pushing past us and proceeding through the front door. "I am merely suggesting that if you were to control your temper, your adolescence wouldn't be all that tangible."

Hermione and I follow Ron as he shots down the yard after Malfoy's disappearing figure.

"Would you talk like a normal human being, you ponce?" Ron shouts after our common nemesis. "Besides, I didn't see you getting to stay either, oh Mr Grownup."

Malfoy turns, sneering at the red-head following him down the street. "That's obvious, isn't it. Dumbledore comes to the meeting and drops a bomb like he did today, and you don't think the others would like to discuss it without the bomb's presence?"

A valid point, as Ron also apparently realises, because he remains quiet.

Another sneer from Malfoy. "Exactly," he snorts, before turning to Hermione and myself who have just now caught up with Ron and Malfoy. "Now if you'll excuse me, I would like to return to Hogwarts. I have an essay that is due tomorrow."

"But you can't apparate, can you?" The words escape my mouth before I have time to stop myself.

Malfoy stares at me for a few seconds, surprise clouding his clear eyes. "Not legally, no..." he mumbles, still looking at me with a quizzical brow. "Aren't you going to apparate too? How else would you get to Hogwarts from here?"

I chuckle and pull out three shrunken brooms from my jeans pocket. "You didn't think Dumbledore would actually let us do anything illegal? It would not bode good for the war if any of us were to wind up arrested for illegal apparating."

Malfoy seems to consider my words for a moment before he narrows his eyes at me. "Are you trying to imply that I'm supposed to ride on one of those brooms all the way to Hogwarts, when I might just as well apparate right to the gates?"

A wicked smile. "Yes."

­­­­­­­**___________________________________________________________________**

I am nothing but weather and wind. I am part of the snowstorm, flying forth over blue moors and through green forests lightly as the snowflakes I'm chasing. My limbs are like ice, and I am blinded by the snow. And I am gloriously happy.

"Malfoy, are you crazy?" Potter's laugh cuts through the storm as I do another loop around a couple of pines.

I circle a vine of jasmine, cutting my cheek on a frozen thorn. "Maybe I am."

Crossing the path right in front of Weasley's broom, I hear Granger squeal and the Weasel curse as he has to avoid me. He turns his broom around and almost hits a tree.

Chuckling I turn down the path, catching up to Potter and noticing a slight grin on his face. I sneer, not able to believe it; Potter is actually laughing at a prank I pulled on his friends. "Find something funny, Potter?"

He startles, smile hidden from his face once again. But I can still see it glimpse in his eyes, I can still see his chest vibrating irregularly from holding back his laughter. "Nothing, Malfoy. That was a mean thing to do." He tries to sound angry, or at least irritated, but fails miserably.

Gaining this little piece of my supposed nemesis, I feel as though I should repay the favour. So, I feel a small laugh escape my lips. "Nice try, Potter."

I fly past him down the road, out through the woods and into a golden field, wondering why he looks at me with those green eyes.

Wondering why he sees me.


	7. Castle on the Hillside

Walking through the Entrance Hall on my way to breakfast the next morning, some second year Hufflepuff girl walks through the doors. A fresh breeze blows straight for me, and I feel it calling me. Breakfast forgotten, I head for the door.

The moon is still high above the silvery tree tops, and the air is sharp and cold. I walk out onto the Quidditch Pitch and sit down on the ground next to the Gryffindor goal pole. I taste the winter in the air as I light a cigarette, watching the horizon where the white earth meets the dark green sky.

Steps in the snow behind me, and a shy voice is heard.

"Malfoy?"

Yes. Unbelievably, here he is again.

"Potter." I acknowledge coolly, and turn back to watch my horizon.

He rudely takes a seat in the snow next to me, and I cannot even be bothered to be angry. "What are you doing out here?"

I snort humourlessly. "I could ask you the very same question." I tap the ashes from my cigarette onto the clean, white snow.

To my surprise, Potter laughs. "A valid point, I guess."

We sit in silence for a while, I watching the deep green sky, Potter drawing abstract lines into the soft layer of snow.

"Why did you come to Dumbledore instead of going to Voldemort?"

I am startled out of the silence by the question, shivering at the mention of the Dark Lord's name. "Um, well. Wouldn't you have done the same thing?" I sneer at him.

He gives me that 'yes-but-I-am-not-a-Death-Eater's-son-and-an-evil-Slytherin-in-general'-look.

I give him a defeated look, staring down the hill and past it into the distance. "I was never going to join him in the first place, but the unfortunate events during the Yule Holidays put an ugly spin on it all. I couldn't go through with my original plans. So I had to seek out Dumbledore."

"So you really didn't want to fight for the Light?" Potter's voice is small. As I turn towards him I am forced to notice the disappointment in his eyes. Confused, but mostly just irritated I turn away. I gaze towards the small sliver of the sun raising up above the tree tops, fighting the moon for space in the sky. Snorting, I crush the remains of my cigarette into the snow in frustration.

"Don't get any ideas, Potter. I am no hero, no martyr. No noble saint who suddenly realised his purpose in life is to fight evil. I am merely a marionette, tossed around by the whims of fate. As I told you all at the meeting, I had little choice but to do what I did." I mutter, draping my cloak tighter around me as a cold wind rushes up the hillside.

A long silence follows, until Potter finally sighs. "I don't believe you." At my offended raise of an eyebrow, he hurries to continue. "I believe that you were driven to this by the circumstances, but that doesn't change the fact that you _did_ chose this path. If you really were the Malfoy I always thought you were, the Malfoy you try to make everyone think you are, you would not have hesitated to kill a few wizards to keep yourself alive."

I stare at him. He looks back with a steady gaze, his whole posture mirroring the image of a hero speaking the complete truth. Or what he believes to be the truth, anyway. "You chose to lower yourself to ask for help from Dumbledore, which I have no doubt was no easy thing for you to do. So no, you may not be a saint, Malfoy. But you are a hero."

I can think of nothing to say to that. Staring down at my pale, long fingers, I wonder how these hands, these cold hands of a killer, could ever be the hands of a hero. Lifting my gaze towards the field below once more, I see the sun lose its fight against the moon. It blinds me with a few pale rays of light before disappearing behind the horizon. I sigh.

"Do you think this goddamn winter will ever end, Potter?"

He chuckles as much as he dares at my silly, yet totally serious question. Finally he sighs and answers softly:

"Of course it will. They always do."

A small smile playing on my lips, I draw my knees to my chest. "Well, that's good then." Maybe for this moment, for this moment only, I could believe him.

**­­­­­­­­­­­­­___________________________________________________________________**

We do not have one of those talks again. A week later I am moved to Grimmauld Place. Packing only a small suitcase with my most necessary belongings, I bide farewell to my home forever. Who knows if Hogwarts will still stand when all of this is over.

The house is dark and empty, a typical old wizard house with house-elf heads on corridor walls and ghouls in the attic. I take my time to go through the whole house, and eventually come upon a Family Tree in the drawing room. Realising I am in the old Black House, I feel the urge to laugh at the irony of it. Being in the position where I am probably soon to be disinherited, I suddenly find myself actually _living_ in the Most Noble House of Black. The one legacy Mother has been dying to get her hands on.

Running my fingers along the long branches of the tree, I finally find my hand resting on a familiar face. My own. The flame of the candle on the wall flickers, and I find myself reaching for it. Before I know it, a black hole is gracing the wall where the small picture of me used to be. The only thing left now is my name. I blow out the candle.

From that day on, I live in darkness.

**­­­­­­­­­­­­­___________________________________________________________________**

The Fidelius Charm and quite possibly some other charms Dumbledore has put on the house prevent me from ever leaving it, and already after the third day I am panicking. Luckily, pacing my bedroom one night I get the brilliant idea to open a window. And though none of the doors and windows downstairs will budge an inch, this one slides open with only a slight creaking sound. I cast a Stunning Charm out into the cold air, and the sparks hit an invisible wall about three meters from the house. Cursing the old coot who locked me up in here, I climb out onto the window seal and raise my arms to grab the edge of the roof above me. Though I manage to drop one of my shoes, swinging myself up onto the snowy roof takes no effort at all.

Sitting on the edge of the roof, I try to _Accio_ the fallen shoe from the ground bellow. Unfortunately, it seems that there is another shield a few meters below the bedroom window that rejects my attempt at saving my shoe. Cursing myself for not bringing another pair of shoes, I toss the other one down the roof to join its pair.

Staring at the far away horizon, dark and empty with no sun nor moon, I suddenly feel completely alone, more so than ever. Standing on the roof top, I'm ready to fall. If I only could.

I light a cigarette. And I laugh, long and hard.

Crying would be out of character.

**­­­­­­­­­­­­­___________________________________________________________________**

I spend most of my days either hidden away in the big dark library, or on top of the roof. As the days get longer and sunnier, I stay in the library for longer times each day, reading through books of my condition, the Black family history, advanced potions, and dark magic. But as the night falls, I climb out onto the roof, sitting there for hours at end. Staying inside the house during night time seems unbearable; I cannot stay in the bedroom because I no longer need to sleep. I cannot stay in the kitchen because I do not eat. And I cannot light a fire to sit in front of in the drawing-room.

Severus visits me from time to time. He brings me cigarettes and vials with anonymous blood, one to drink every other day. It seems blood from a vial is less nutritious than fresh blood. Before the actual war, I will have to survive on that, but the small vials leave me chronically thirsty and aching for more. Severus never says a thing about the dark house, but uses _Lumos_ so he won't fall over his feet in the dark hallways.

We don't talk about much beside my condition. Avoiding the topics of Voldemort, Father and Dumbledore, that's pretty much all we're left with. Severus sits in the big Slytherin green armchair in front of the fireplace in the drawing-room, while I curl up in a smaller black one in the far away corner. He never attempts to light a fire, though I suspect the house is freezing. I would hardly know.

Dumbledore comes by once in a while, speaking of trivial things like the Sorting Hat's love life and Severus' increasing bitterness. I ask him for information about the upcoming war, but the only response I get is that there is little information of importance. _'All details will be revealed as soon as is needed'. _It seems that for now, I am left alone and ignorant behind these four walls.

**­­­­­­­­­­­­­___________________________________________________________________**

It's getting close to spring. The snow is starting to drip off the roof in large drops in the warmth of the morning sun, while freezing to ice taps in the still cold night. Tonight I can hear a nightingale sing in the distance, and I can but wish that I could jump off this roof and join him on his branch somewhere in the woods. After a while he quiets down. When the small sliver of the rising sun starts to climb the horizon, other birds' song take his place. In a hurry to get out of their way, I swing myself down the roof and straight through the open window into my bedroom.

I am greeted by the smell of candles burning. Terror surges through my brain, as I realise that it can neither be Dumbledore nor Severus. Severus never lights a candle, and Dumbledore visits very rarely, and then only in the evenings.

I creep silently out into the still dark hallway, confirming my fears of an intruder when seeing the faint light of a candle mirrored at the wall on the top of the stairs. I hear faint steps coming from the entrance hall, and my instincts kick in. Before realising what I am doing, I have crossed the corridor with an immense speed and leaped over the railing of the stairs. I land heavily on the intruder who yelps in surprise.


	8. Sticks and Stones

When I come to, I find myself lying on the hard dusty floor, another body on top of mine. I feel strong hands gripping my wrists, placed above my head, and I open my eyes to find a familiar face looking down at me.

A very shocked Malfoy is staring down at me. An yet, it is not. Malfoy.

I see something buried beneath the surface of his pale features, and suddenly I realise it is not me he's staring at, but my throat. Instinctively, I gulp, and I see Malfoy's eyes widening further. His grey eyes are glowing almost silver in the light of lamps on the wall, his chest rising and falling heavily. A pink tongue darts out to grace his teeth.

Panic takes over as I see Malfoy trying to fight the vampire. I squirm beneath his grip, but in vain. Suddenly I see his nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath, and I know he has lost the struggle with himself.

A croaked "I'm sorry" echoes in the hallway, followed by my gasp as the sharp teeth pierce my skin. The burn on my throat is fierce, and I cannot but to kick my legs in a pointless struggle. In the moment I feels as though I'm dying, and I can but wonder at how it all could end like this. Of all that I have survived, Grimmauld Place will be my demise.

I'm not afraid of death. But I'm afraid that people won't remember me. They'll only remember what I didn't do while I was alive. Like killing Voldemort. Or at least coming as far as trying.

And then, Malfoy then settles his whole body on top of mine to keep me still, and suddenly all such thoughts are caught off. With the sting in my throat slowly fading into a pulsing burn, and Malfoy's thigh digging in between mine, my breath catches in my throat. I suddenly realise I am enjoying death far more than I should.

Death is a wonderful thing.

Malfoy's tongue darts out to lap once at the pulsing wound, and reflexively I gasp and thrust up at him. Malfoy stiffens for a second, but suddenly he bites his teeth deeper into my neck. He groans and ruts his hips hard against mine for me to feel his arousal.

"Oh God--" I gasp, closing my eyes and throwing my head back, rolling my hips frantically to get as much friction as possible. Malfoy responds with a throaty growl that feeds my desire even more, as he begins rutting me into the floor in a frantic pace. The floor is dirty and uncomfortable, and I'm positive I will have dark bruises on my back tomorrow. And for all I try, I can't seem to care, my own raspy groans overshadowing any voice of reason. It's all a glorious blur; Malfoy's cool hands wrapped around my wrists. Malfoy's body against mine. Malfoy's shallow breathing in my ear...

_Malfoy._

Then I am coming, and he is too, grunting loudly but never letting go of my throat. I feel my body go weak, my sight darkening. Just as I believe I am about to black out, the already too familiar weight on my throat disappears.

I open my eyes to find Malfoy staring down at me, clouded eyes wide as saucers. A trail of blood, my blood, escapes the side of his mouth.

"Potter." he rasps, and I can only snort at the sound of my name. Way to state the obvious, no? He breaks the eye contact, looking around in the hallway. At my cloak on a hanger, my broom in the corner of the hall and my suitcase abandoned on the floor. Then Malfoy turns his face to the two gas lamps on the wall that I lit upon entering the house. I see him suddenly become self-aware.

He jumps off me as if burned, backing into the shadows further down the hallway. "Why are you here?" the pale shadow that once was Malfoy asks, wiping away the blood from his lips as he leans against the double doors of the dining room.

I stand up from the floor on shaky legs, very aware of the uncomfortable wetness in my trousers. "Things at Hogwarts got a little... complicated. Dumbledore sent me here." I mumble.

"You shouldn't have come." Malfoy mutters, maybe more to himself than to me. "He should've known you couldn't come here!" Looking almost afraid, Malfoy looks down at his hands, clenches and unclenches them experimentally. "You barely got through the door and look at what I did to you." He turns to look at me, furrow between his pale brows and guilt clouding his eyes like a veil.

I stare at him for a few minutes, silently cursing myself for being disappointed that what just happened meant nothing to Malfoy. Why _should_ it mean anything to him?

_Why does it mean something to me?_

Quietly I turn to pick up my suitcase before turning back to the blonde. "I'm all right, aren't I? Besides..." I take a deep breath, wondering what the hell I am going to say. "...it's perfectly understandable that you'd attack anyone coming through that door. You haven't fed in a long time, have you?" I state hollowly, turning around and strolling up the stairs. All the while I am very conscious of Malfoy staring at me with an expression I cannot read.

He then takes a jump two meters up and over the railing, blocking my way as I am heading upstairs. "It's not supposed to happen!" he exclaims, seeming almost panicked. "I am trying _so hard _to convince everyone that I am not some kind of animal. That I can control myself. And what do I do the minute the Chosen One walks through the door?!" he screams, more near me than at me. Malfoy sighs and looks at me with desperation. "Do you really think even Dumbledore will forgive me for that?" He pants as he is through, piercing me with wide metallic eyes.

I stare in surprise at this unfamiliar, straightforward Malfoy. I could never imagine the old Malfoy expressing his worries to me, of all people, so freely. I give him a slight sneer and try to push past him and into the second floor hallway. "No one has to find out, do they?"

Suddenly I am pressed between the wall and Malfoy, his hands on either side of my head and his face only inches from mine. "What are you playing at?" he seethes disdainfully.

My blood pounds terribly loud in my ears. "Nothing," I croak, trying to calm myself.

"Liar." Malfoy hisses, so close now that our noses are almost touching. "What reason do you have to forgive me, be nice to me? I have never been anything but horrible to you. Why should you treat me any different?"

Staring into those deep silver pools, I dare to smile softly. "Because _I'm _different."

Pushing a stunned Malfoy of my way, I walk to one of the guest rooms at the end of the hall. I lock the door behind me and fall back against it, surprised tears rolling down my face.

_What the fuck am I doing?_

* * *

_What the fuck am I doing?_

After quickly putting out the candles in the entrance hall, I withdraw into the comforting darkness of the library. Sitting in a large plush armchair, I draw my knees to my chest in an effort to make myself as small as possible. I close my eyes and wish myself far away from here. Yet, as I open them again, I still see nothing but the dark shadows of the books around me and the small rays of light fighting to pierce the worn moth eaten curtains.

I hit my fists to my temples, trying to get the memory of what just occurred out of my head.

_You attacked Potter. _Thud. _You practically ripped his throat out in your frenzy to drink him down. _Thud thud. _You drank him half dry, and then you practically raped him!_

Thud.

"No." I tell myself, running my hands through my hair, nails digging into my scalp. _He wanted it. He kept squirming and panting and gasping and- He wanted it! _

My conscience snorts loudly. _He _wanted_ it? That's your excuse? Do you remember the night you became like this? Didn't you 'want it' then, too? But he wouldn't give it to you, would he? Because he knew that you would regret it. Just like Potter will._

I can't help but to laugh out loud, the hollow sound echoing in the empty room. _Oh, how thoughtful of him! I'm sooo grateful of that vampire. To bad he didn't pay any mind to the fact that I maybe would regret being a fucking blood-thirsty monster_,_ too! _

_Don't change the subject, you idiot, _the nasty voice of truth continues. _You know exactly what I'm talking about._

Before I have time to answer my inner voice fades away. I am left alone, my constant thoughts of guilt and regret my only company.


	9. Dazed and Abused

It is though I am living with a ghost.

The only sign of anyone living in this dark, creepy house beside me is the occasional rumble in the pipes as the water rushes up through them to the bathroom in Malfoy's bedroom. That's all. There are never steps to be heard in the corridors, never a sweater or a pair of shoes scattered around the house. Never a chair moved, never the smell of a candle burning.

Never a light.

The whole house, except for my own bedroom, is kept in complete darkness. If I light a candle or a gas lamp in the hallway, the next time I pass through there it has been put out. The whole house is freezing. I have to wear two sweaters even when sleeping to keep me warm. I keep myself from freezing to death in the cold mornings only by sitting in front of the stove in the kitchen for half an hour. Some mornings it's so cold that even the shoot of the dumbwaiter freezes shut.

Malfoy never eats. Well, any food, at least. I don't know if he's unable to due to his situation, or if he just doesn't want to. Anyway, it's not as if I can ask him either.

My ignorance of Malfoy's condition is what eventually leads me to seek out the library. Even if his presence barely acknowlegable, I am still living with a vampire. Hence, I need to know as much of them as possible. And this house being the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, I'm positive there is some information on dark creatures stashed here somewhere.

I stalk the dark corridor in the West Wing. I walk past a room that was once a study, a door down to the dungeons and what appears to be an old potions lab before I reach the large oak doors leading to the library. The doors open with a creek, and I step into the dark room. The only light are the thin rays of sunshine piercing the old curtains from a single window facing the garden.

And old fireplace is built into the opposite wall, while all the others are covered with books of all shapes and sizes. In front of the hearth two plush armchairs in chocolate brown are placed, one of them which is surrounded by stacks of books and pieces of parchment. It seems Malfoy has been spending some time here too. The room smells of old paper, dust and cigarettes.

I look around the room nervously, but see no sign of the other boy. Relieved, I make my way to one of the shelves; it's not like there are any places to hide in here.

I reach out my hand to pull out some of the books from the shelf when the silence in the room is sliced by a cold voice.

"What are you doing in here?"

Startled I turn around, searching for the familiar face of Malfoy. Finally I see him, crouching on top of a bookshelf beside the fireplace.

"I- I just wanted to look something up." I mumble, nervously meeting Malfoy's cold stare.

His expression remains emotionless, until he breaks the eye contact and jumps down from the shelf. He lands gracefully on bare feet with a muffled thump on the hardwood floor.

"I'll leave you to it then." Malfoy murmurs, heading for the door with long steps.

He's almost at the doors when I find my voice. "Wait!" I exclaim, crossing the room towards the blonde. "Why don't you stay? I won't bother you." Stopping a couple of meters from him, I am silenced by the hard look in his eyes.

"You want me to stay." he states, as if my request is something utterly insane. Most likely it is.

"Yes." I declare, as steadily as my voice may bear the words.

Malfoy raises an eyebrow, and the familiar expression gives me confidence, as if Malfoy is almost human again. "Why?"

I break the eye contact, looking around in the dark library. "I don't know about you, but at least to me this place is terrifyingly depressive. And being alone here with no one to talk to... that makes the whole thing even more unbearable." I look up to face Malfoy's stern features once again. "You must miss your friends too, right? Miss someone to talk to."

Malfoy stands quietly for a long while before he turns around and walks over to one of the chairs, the one with the books surrounding it. He sits down and stares into the fireplace, as if there was a fire there, a dance of flames only he can see.

"Why won't you light a fire?" I blurt out, regretting the words the moment they cross my lips. This was probably not one of those things I should have mentioned immediately after gaining this tiny shread of trust from Malfoy.

"Why should I?"

He turns his head to face me with a blank look, and for a moment I fear a Dementor has payed him a visit; he looks completely soul-less. In a moment his eyes clear though, and he looks back to his imaginary fire.

"There is nothing here to be seen." Malfoy murmurs, emptiness tainting his voice. "I manage well without a single light, and I don't need other people coming here and staring at me as if I were some circus animal. I don't need Severus and Dumbledore coming here and looking at me with pity and fear as they see my face." Malfoy swallows loudly, turning to face me again, nailing me to the floor with that piercing gaze of his.

"Everyone will be happier if they can forget that I exist."

"I won't." I mumble, my legs carrying me towards Malfoy on their own. I sit down on the floor beside him. Tentatively I place my hand on the armrest, only inches away from Malfoy's hand.

"Malfoy, you may hide from the world in darkness, but even here you can't hide from me." I look up into Malfoy's silver eyes. Behind that icy complexion I see a scared boy, searching for something. Acceptance perhaps. "I know that I cannot possibly understand what you're going through, but... I have seen you." I exclaim, gently covering Malfoy's cold hand with mine. His hand shudders softly and his lower lip trembles, but otherwise he remains perfectly still.

"I have seen you, Malfoy. Both who you were before and who you are now. And believe me, if I were to call either of you a monster, it would not be the person you are now."

Malfoy stares up at me, his eyes suddenly burning with a rage I had not expected. "Fuck you, Potter. You know nothing about who I am."

With those words, Malfoy rushes up from the chair and disappears through the doors.

* * *

I hear the rats walking the attic again as I try to fall asleep, my mind still filled with thoughts of Malfoy.

Sighing, I turn around in my bed once again. I just don't understand him. One minute he is very civil, even friendly. Then suddenly, he gets agitated and bites my head off for no reason at all.

Half an hour later, I give up trying to sleep on the problem. Putting on my slippers, I exit my room and walk to the third story of the West Wing, to Malfoy's room.

I knock, but not a sound is heard from the inside. I almost turn to leave, but decide against it. It would be right for me to wake Malfoy, considering he has caused me to lie awake most of the night.

Another knock, but still no response. Finally, I lose my nerve and open the door myself, common British courtesy be damned.

Again the thoughts of ghosts fill my brain as I enter Malfoy's room. It is obvious that I am in the right room. The closet door stands open and even in the darkness I can spot Malfoy's silver-green Slytherin robes hanging there. But otherwise, the room seems completely uninhabited.

There are no personal possessions on neither the wooden drawer, nor on the bedside table. The four-poster bed is empty and made, and as I approach it I detect a thin layer of dust covering it. The only thing indicating any life in the room is the open window, the cold wind bringing in small flakes of snow. I run my finger across the edge of the bed, wondering. Has Malfoy slept in here once since he got here?

"May I ask what you're doing in my room, Potter?"

I turn around to find Malfoy standing in the window opening, clad in but a pair of slacks and a white t-shirt. "Um- I was just..." I sputter as I watch the blonde boy gracefully jump down from the window sill and approach me.

"What is it that you want from me?" Malfoy asks, stopping a yard in front of me, lazily putting his hands into his pockets as he observes me.

I avert my gaze from him and look beside me to the bed again. "Don't you sleep in your bed?" I ask in a feeble attempt to avoid Malfoy's question.

"You didn't answer my question." he mutters, taking another step closer to me.

"You didn't answer mine." I retort childishly.

Malfoy stares at me for a minute before turning away from the bed. "I don't."

I turn towards him. "What?"

"I don't. Sleep, that is."

"Oh," is all I can say as I stare at the man in front of me. I suddenly realise how hard this must be for him. Everyone around him is thinking about the fact that he is a threat to them, that he might attack them.

But what about Malfoy? I look at the pale pointed features of the Slytherin and realise he must be devastated. It's not only the fact that he now needs other people's blood to survive. He cannot eat, he cannot sleep. To constantly be reminded of the fact that you are different, to constantly be afraid that you might hurt the person next to you...

"That must be horrible."

Malfoy looks at me with a blank expression for a minute before turning his eyes to the floor and snorting softly. "Well, it gives me more time to study."

"But more time to think."

He turns back to me, surprise and something close to fear lacing his features. Sitting down on the dusty bed, he sighs. "_Too much_ time to think."

I take the liberty to sit down on the bed too, facing Malfoy and crossing my legs in front of me. "What do you do on the roof then, if not think?"

"How do you know I was on the roof?" Malfoy asks with a stern voice, but in his sneer I detect a trace of a smile. I raise an eyebrow.

"Well you had to have been outside since you appeared on the windowsill, and I'm pretty sure we can't leave the house. So I figured those rats I've been hearing in the attic at night aren't rats after all?" I grin as I see Malfoy's face quirk into a Cheshire-cat grin. He leers at me from behind the blonde strands falling in front of his face. "I thought so."

He rubs his neck absentmindedly, looking over his shoulder out through the window. "I... I go to the roof to escape from this house. From it all. I don't _think_ on the roof, I just... listen."

I don't know what to say to that. We sit in silence for a long while, Malfoy staring out the window, me staring at Malfoy. At that milky hue, those steel gray, haunted eyes. That beautiful platinum hair that shines up like silver in this dark room. I find it amazing how someone so beautiful can be considered evil, a monster even. I see nothing evil about this skinny boy in front of me. This scared, pale boy who even now carries himself with a posture of highest grace.

"_Can_ you eat or sleep, or is it just that you don't need to?" I finally ask, breaking the silence that has almost pleasantly surrounded us. Malfoy turns to me with a furrow between his brows, eyes piercing me with ferocity, though not anger.

"Why do you ask?"

"Well," I laugh softly, a little breathtaken by Malfoy's intense stare. "If I'm living with a vampire I might as well learn about them too, right?"

My companion seems content by that answer. He turns to face me, pulling his legs up from beside the bed to cross them in front of himself. "I can't eat, as my body can no longer process the food. As for the sleeping..." he looks thoughtfully past my shoulder at something only he can see. "I guess I could fall asleep, if I ever were to lie still long enough to do so. It hasn't happened so far, but I guess one never knows."


	10. New Dimensions

Severus hasn't come by in two weeks. Not that I miss his awkward questions about my well-being and sanity, but I finished my last vial of the bottled blood eight days ago. Two nights ago I locked myself in my room, and I can't bear to open the door anymore. The thirst is starting to claw at my throat as the vaguely potent bottled blood leaves my body.

It's not like the key isn't still in the lock, and it's not like I couldn't with ease remove the locked door from its frame anyway, but I couldn't _not_ lock it. At least now Potter can't enter the room, as he has taken the liberty to do every now and then after that first night. I wonder what he's looking for here, what he's hoping to find.

Potter wakes, I can hear his feet tapping as he crosses his bedroom to enter the loo. My mind suddenly produces the brilliant idea to crush down the walls that separate me from my prey. I leer. Potter wouldn't know what hit him. Besides, I could even make him like it...

"Merlin!" I gasp, bolting for the bathroom. I feel sick, but of course it's impossible for me to empty my stomach.

As I turn to look into the mirror, an aged thing covered in a fine layer of dust, I ponder about my options. I still have my wand, I could try to break the wards on the house and leave before I have time to attack Potter.

_No._ I shake my head as I use the long sleeve of my shirt to wipe the dust off the mirror. The wards would just bounce back all my spells, probably knock me unconscious, and by the time I woke... it'd be too late for Potter.

I have no way of contacting Dumbledore, no way of contacting Severus...

I stare into the porcelain face of the boy in the mirror. I thought my hue couldn't get any paler, but now the fear seems to make me even more stone faced than ever. The pain is painted on my features; my lips pressed together in a thin white line, my eyes tensed in a permanent state of apprehension. As if I were just waiting, seconds away of tasting my prey. A fanged mouth sneers back at me in disgust; I haven't been able to withdraw the canines for three days now.

I know this is all my own fault. If I hadn't attacked Potter that first night, I could have gone to him immediately when the last vial was emptied. After all, it was the original plan that I would get to feed off him once in a while. Once in a week wouldn't have been too much of a stretch.

But after what happened... I just couldn't. And now it's too late. Were I to encounter him now, I doubt I could stop in time.

My throat burns. Flames black and raw, ripping at my insides so painfully I imagine I'll soon see them claw themselves out of my chest. I imagine I can feel the flames hit the walls of my intestines, the horrendous voice of my subconsciousness screaming _Kill, kill _in the same rhythm.

I hear Potter enter the corridor in the North Wing, walking down the stairs with heavy steps, probably headed for the kitchen. My mind just about blows. I want nothing more than to rip down those walls, those useless pieces of stone and wood that separate me from him.

In panic I suddenly find myself falling, my legs giving out from under me. I claw at something, anything around me to keep me upright. When reaching for the shower curtain I suddenly find myself falling head first into the empty bath tub. There I sit, realising maybe it isn't the worst place to be right now. I draw the curtain, efficiently secluding me in the small, cold white room I've created. It works much like the lock on the door, creating the illusion that I can't get out.

* * *

God knows how long I've sat here, knees drawn to my chest, slowly swinging back and forth in a trance-like state. To keep myself from listening to every move Potter makes in the house, I ponder about the fate of Severus instead. Something must have happened. Severus is not stupid enough to stop bringing me the vials just because I have my own personal canteen walking around the house.

I shake my head. Shouldn't Dumbledore be smarter than to bring Potter here, right into the claws of one of the deadliest creatures on earth? Isn't he supposed to be _protecting _Potter? The boy gets into mortal danger enough by himself, it's not like he needs others to do it for him.

I am drawn back to reality by a low rumble escaping my burning throat, and I realise Potter's even steps are approaching my door. I swallow to stop the growling in my throat, hugging my knees closer to my body. I hear a knock, followed by Potter's voice echoing in the corridor.

"Malfoy? You in there?"

I close my eyes, fighting to dream myself away into some distant universe where no trace of Potter can be found. A useless effort, as his voice breaks through my barriers anew a minute later.

"I haven't seen you in three days, I'm starting to get a little spooked." His voice is a little high, breaking slightly at the last word. I hear him trying the door handle a couple of times, only to find it steadily locked.

I hear a sigh and then rapidly retreating steps, an silently thank whichever gods I don't believe in, embracing my victory with a groan. How long can this go on? How long will it take for me to break? How long before I break down that wall and-

He's here again. His steps filled with a determination that rocks the old floor beneath him, Potter approaches my door. I hear a faint rustle, and then I hear him murmur my despair I then hear the door click open, the floor creaking as Potter steps inside. "Malfoy?"

"Go away," I can but whisper, my hope that he will obey me the last chance I've got.

Of course he doesn't. "Malfoy?" he repeats, following my weak voice towards the bathroom. I can't fight the sob that escapes me as Potter crosses the threshold. I know that I won't be able to hold on long now. He's close enough for me to hear the blood running through his veins. "Please leave," I try again, my voice raw and breaking.

"Malfoy?" Potter repeats again, and I can see his silhouette on the other side of the shower curtain. "Are you OK?" he asks, voice clouded with worry. I see his hand reaching for the curtain, and I know it's all over. The moment he opens that curtain, I won't be able to resist.

"Don't!" I roar as a last resort, clenching my eyes shut. Hoping more than ever that this is all just a bad dream I'll now wake from. But I know that it's not, and settle to wait for the opening of the drapes; Potter's doom. My doom.

But I hear no rustling of the drapes. I open my eyes only to see Potter's shadow lower himself to the floor with a thump. "What's wrong?" he asks, his voice low and calming.

I take a deep breath, grasping the chance that I still could get Potter out of here. "You have to leave," I manage to seethe, my arms hugging my knees to my chest closer than ever. My fingers digging into my arms, drawing blood if they could.

"Why?" Potter's melodic tone reaches me through the shower curtain, trembling slightly but filled with worry. I can hear his heartbeat speeding up, the fast pulsing in his veins throbbing in my ears.

Another sob escapes my lips. I swallow loudly, fighting to concentrate on something besides the scent of Potter's blood. "Severus, he-" I whisper, my voice breaking. "He hasn't come by for two weeks." I can only hope that Potter understands the meaning of the words and has the sanity of mind to bolt for the door right this second.

Unfortunately, my revelation is followed by nothing but a long silence. I sigh, my breathing shallow and weak. "That means-"

"I know what it means," Potter cuts me off, rising from the floor slowly. I manage to relax slightly against the tiles, closing my eyes and thanking Merlin for making Potter finally gather his wits.

My praises are apparently given too soon. Suddenly I hear a loud rustling of drapes and open my eyes to find my sanctuary awfully crowded. Potter sits in the other end of the bath tub, staring at me with a curious expression. I feel a growl grow in my throat and grasp frantically for the edges of the tub to have something to hold on to, to help me hold on to my sanity.

"What the fuck do you think you are doing?!" I roar, feeling the porcelain shake and slowly give in under my grasp. I press myself against the wall behind me, praying for this nightmare to end. Potter watches me warily, but a small smile escapes him as he meets my gaze.

"Exactly what I'm _supposed_ to do, remember?" he murmurs, and suddenly he is crawling towards me. My mind is racing, screaming at myself for not just going to Potter in the beginning. I can't be able to pay much attention to it thought. The only thing I hear is the pulsing in Potter's veins. The fast beating of his heart.

He is right in front of me now, and I almost jump him when he reaches out and touches me. He slowly straightens out my legs that were drawn to my chest. Potter then crawls over them, sitting down on my thighs, his knees on either side of me. I stare at him in a mixture of shock and rage and desire. My whole body trembles in resistance and my fingers finally break holes into the edges of the tub.

Potter jumps slightly at the cracking of the porcelain, but a smile soon overshadows the shock. He turns back to me, grinning wickedly. He leans forward as I press my self further against the wall. I stop breathing as he presses his cheek against mine, breathing against my ear. His pulse is closer then ever, his throat just inches from my lips, and how I long for that throat. But I close my eyes and feebly try to keep from breathing in the glorious scent of Potter's blood.

He sniggers at my resistance, and takes a deep breath. "What are you waiting for?" A whisper, his warm lips gracing the shell of my ear.

_And I fall._

Letting go of the tub to grasp hold of Potter's upper arms, I turn my head and sink my teeth into his neck. He gasps and shudders, apparently finding it hard to keep himself upright. Without withdrawing my teeth from his neck, I reverse our positions. Potter is now lying on his back in the tub, while I am crouching above him.

_Just like last time,_ my subconsciousness mutters. I beat it to a silent pulp.

I suck greedily at Potter's throat, feeling him writhe and gasp beneath me, a loud "Oh, fuck...!" escaping him. Suddenly I feel a hand entangle itself into my hair, while the other is gripping the hem of my shirt.

The warm liquid flows down my throat, soothing the fierce burn immediately. I feel my strength return, my senses sharpen anew. I lap at the black haired boy's throat ravenously, feeling that nothing, nothing in the whole world can beat this.

Then suddenly Potter bucks beneath me, letting out a strangled gasp. The raspy voice fills my head with images, and suddenly the blood isn't the only thing on my mind. With immense self-control I manage to withdraw my fangs, lapping at the small puncture wounds to stop them from bleeding.

I lift my head to look down at the boy lying beneth me. He has stopped writhing now, and is only trembling slightly, obviously trying to get his breathing under control.

My eyes flicker briefly to Potter's throat where the puncture wounds are still clearly visible. But suddenly I find my mind clouded by a stronger desire than the already sated thirst for blood. I look back up to those bright green eyes. Confusion, fear and expectation is painted on his face.

My gaze leaves Potter's eyes, flickering down his straight nose, his rounded cheekbones, down to his taut mouth, still half open and panting softly. I lean down, only hoping that my fangs have withdrawn by now. I pause briefly half an inch from his mouth, breathing deeply, taking in his scent, before pressing my lips to his.

He is unresponsive at first, in shock, only trembling slightly. Then he opens his mouth slowly, the warmth inviting me in, as trembling arms grab my shoulders. Encouraged, I let my cool tongue flicker at the velvety heat of his mouth. He tastes of toast, of coffee, of sun. Of life.

Then suddenly the cautiousness is long gone. There are only tongues flickering, frantic breaths between kisses, fingers in my hair, hips thrusting. I sneak my hand under his over-sized sweater, feeling his warm skin shudder under my cool fingers. Suddenly I feel the urge to feel the rest of the beautiful, olive body. I tug the shirt upwards, my eager fingers ripping holes in the cloth. I freeze, for the first time listening to the minor part of my consciousness that tells me I shouldn't be doing this. I break the kiss, looking down at Potter's flushed face.

_How fragile he is. How easily I could break him._

But Potter doesn't seem at all bothered by the ominous ripping of his shirt. He merely smiles at me breathlessly and lifts his shoulders for me to slide the sweater over his head. And I do, against my better judgment, lost somewhere in the depths of that smile.

* * *

A ripping sounds echoes in the bathroom, bouncing off the tiles, paralyzing the before so eager body above me. Malfoy breaks the kiss, distancing himself to look down at my face with a concerned crease between his eyebrows.

I should be terrified, lying beneath this freakishly strong vampire who just accidentally mauled my shirt into little more than a dissected piece of cloth. Yet the only thing I can focus on is that worry on Malfoy's face, the fact that he's concerned about me. I feel a giddy smile spread on my face as I raise myself to let him slide the shirt off me. For a second he hesitates, but then it seems he let's himself go, pulling the sweater over my head quickly.

Malfoy looks down at my revealed chest. Never before have I felt so naked, even though hundreds of times in the boy's locker room never bothered me. He bites his lip, hypnotic silver eyes taking in every inch of my body. He then turns to me, licking his lips. His kisses are hungry, filling my mouth with the taste of musk, iron and cigarettes. Too soon I feel his lips leave mine, only to find him kissing his way down my jaw. The touch passes over the still hot puncture wounds, down to my chest. I feel like a total idiot, only being able to lie here and gasp and shudder as Malfoy kisses and nibbles his way down my body.

As he reaches my navel and bites down at the soft flesh below it I tremble violently with apprehension. My hands live a life of their own, seeking out Malfoy's gorgeous blonde hair and weaving into it. Then Malfoy moves to unbuckle my belt, and I feel as though I'm falling over the edge of the earth. A breathless "oh God" escapes my lips. This is too good to be true, this is-

"Harry?"

- not the way to be caught with a vampire when one is supposed to be hidden away to be kept _safe_.

Malfoy jumps off me as if burned as the bright voice I recognise as Tonks' echoes through the house. I quickly move to fasten my belt and pick up my shirt, before I realise I can impossibly wear the dishevelled piece of cloth. Malfoy seems to realise my problem. He bolts out of the bath tub quicker than I can blink, and is soon back with a simple black t-shirt. I take the offered cloth and try to tug it over my head at the same time as I stumble out of the bath tub, chuckling hysterically.

"Harry-yy?"

The voice seems to be getting closer. I stumble out through the bathroom door, desperately trying to think of a scenario where it would look natural for me and Malfoy to spend time in his bed room. Malfoy walks past me, looking entirely too calm for the situation. He walks right to the open bed room door, turning to look back at me with a questioning eyebrow. Apparently expecting for me to follow him.

"What are you doing?" I hiss, terrified that Tonks will hear me.

Malfoy sniggers at my panic. Can't imagine what he has to laugh about, fucking prat. "_I _am going to greet our guest, instead of getting caught here with _you_ looking like you've just broken grandma's favourite vase."

Grinning one last time at my hysteria, Malfoy runs a hand trough his for once disarrayed hair. He leaves the room with long steps, his Malfoy-mask firmly in place. I sputter to myself in shock and irritation for a few moments. Then I feebly attempt to straighten out my messy locks, entering the corridor with shaking legs.


	11. Want

"Harry!" my cousin cries out as Potter finally enters the kitchen, dropping the cup of tea she was holding in excitement. I shoot out to grab it before it reaches the floor, and the today turquoise-haired woman looks at me with surprise that quickly fades to embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes desperately, biting her lip, not quite able to look me in the eyes.

I fight the urge to let out a sigh. "It's nothing," I state calmly, walking over to the sink to wash the warm and sticky liquid off my hands. God, I hate these people who think I will turn into Mr Vampire/Killer as soon as they look at me. One reason I appreciate Potter, I guess; he is one of the few people that look me in the eyes when they speak to me.

I turn to cast a glance at Potter, and find him looking at me with a furrowed brow. When he realises I have turned towards him he hurries to stumble to the table and engage Tonks in a heated quiz on who is doing what and with whom in 'the real world'. It startles me to realise that he misses that world so much. That place which I'd rather hide away from forever than set my foot in again.

I look around in the dark room. Only two candles are lit, barely allowing Tonks and Potter to speak face to face, yet I feel disgustingly exposed. I plan to exit quietly to my beloved library, when I suddenly realise there actually _is _someone in the real world that I care whether they live or die.

"Tonks?" I ask in what must have been a very scary voice because both Potter and the Metamorphagus jump slightly in their seats. I ignore them and move on to my question. "Do you know what happened to Professor Snape?"

Tonks stares at me for a long minute before turning to cast a questioning look at Potter, who's face has suddenly gone very grave. He swallows loudly and averts his gaze to the floor, leaving Tonks to turn back to me with a crestfallen expression. "Professor Snape..." she begins quietly, fingers nervously tearing at the napkin in her hands. "He disappeared three weeks ago. We were able to locate him, but by the time we got there..." She trails off, lowering her gaze to her hands.

And there really is no need for her to say more. "How?" I hear my voice ask hollowly, vaguely wondering when my lips moved. My cousin doesn't raise her eyes, she merely keeps fidgeting with the napkin as she speaks. "It seems it was Cruciatus before they... the snake."

_Nagini._ I wince, a shudder going through my body as I imagine my godfather's last moments. Regaining my composure, I avert my eyes to see Potter staring at me, compassion marring his features. I clench my jaw. I don't want their cheap pity. "Excuse me," I murmur, leaving the room as swiftly as my legs can carry me.

Whilst I run to my room, I realise there is no escaping this. I can't run to escape, I can't leave to get some release. Some alleviation for this churning pain in my gut. I enter my room, closing the door behind me but finding myself unable to lock it: Potter still has the key.

Sitting down on the edge of the dusty bed I wait for the tears to come. They don't. I just feel hollow. Angry. Angry at all these people that didn't even bother to tell me. They didn't bother telling the _only_ person in the world who would truly mourn the death of Severus Snape.

I despise them. Those weak, cowardly people. People like Potter, sitting down in that kitchen right now pretending they care. Pretending to give a fuck so that they have the right to pity me. I feel the shocks of anger rush through me, finding myself compelled to grip the poster of the bed to keep myself from running downstairs right now and ripping the throats of Potter and my clumsy, weak cousin.

I pull my knees to my chest, rocking myself slowly back and forth as I stare into oblivion. I wish I could sleep. I wish I could forget, if even for just a moment. For forever.

_I want to die._

* * *

What could be either hours or mere minutes later, I hear Potter's steps approach my room. "Malfoy?" He knocks softly before opening the door with a slight creaking sound. I do not bother to avert my gaze from the far-away wall. Not that it is focused there either way.

"Malfoy?" he repeats, approaching the bed cautiously. For a moment I wonder when my rage faded to a dull hollow ache, but the thought dissolves as soon as it came. "You knew?" slips from my mouth in that same monotone voice from before.

"I'm sorry," Potter sighs, sounding truly apologetic. Not that it matters anyway, his apologies won't bring Severus back. "They forbade me from telling you, thinking it could get dangerous with only the two of us in the house..."

"Ah," is the only thing I manage to reply. It's cruel, but I understand. It's perfectly reasonable. After all, no one wants to be alone with a grief-blinded, bloodthirsty vampire.

_Like Potter is now._

"Why are you here?" I ask in what almost resembles my normal voice, confusion overthrowing the numbness. I turn my head towards the brunette, who seems surprised by my question but also pleased to finally get a real reaction from me.

"I came to see if you were OK. Do you want me to leave?" he asks quickly, seeming somewhat forlorn about the idea. "I sent Tonks home, thinking you probably wouldn't want her in the house..." He rambles on, looking at me cautiously from under his long, dark lashes.

I stare at him in wonderment for a minute, before I burst into a loud roar of laughter. The boy's ability to still be so stupid, so thoroughly naïve amazes me. Whilst Potter is trying to find out what the fuck is wrong with me, I laugh my heart out.

It's good to know some things never change.

* * *

We do not speak of that day. Not of my hysterical reaction. Not of Severus. Not of the bath tub.

_Never of the bath tub._

Life continues much as it has. I spend my days studying, in my room or the library. The only difference is, Potter seems determined to follow me everywhere. It's not that he sits beside me when I read, or keeps me company when I brush my teeth. It's the little things.

He finds reasons to come knocking while I'm in the library, looking for these and those books. Yet I know he just spends most of his time here going through Sirius' old stuff. My room he enters now and again, every time just as politely asking if he could borrow some shampoo, a pack of cards, an opinion on some Potions text I know he has never even read through.

I might admit I've quite grown to appreciate his company. He doesn't avoid the topic of my condition, but neither does he focus on it. And while I could live without his nonsensical jabbering about all those Quiddich teams, I quite enjoy the lengthy monologues I trick him into having by ignoring his ignorant questions. It's a little game of our's. How long can I keep on pretending he doesn't exist while he pads along after me, talking to himself. When I lose, how long can he keep me socializing with him before I realise I am a Slytherin, not to mention a vampire, who shouldn't get chummy with anyone. Least of all a Gryffindor. Least of all Potter.

* * *

He doesn't hide away from me anymore. Were I a little more arrogant I might even suggest he seeks out my company.

I look around in the large kitchen, smiling to myself as I turn to pour myself another cup of coffee. It's my favourite room in the house, apart from the library. It's also the only room which I have taken liberty of keeping lit. The only room where Malfoy won't put out any candle I light.

The only room where he will come to me.

One minute I am alone here like I have been for all these weeks. Then, I turn around, to find him sitting at the table reading a book. As if he has always been there.

"Morning," I smile while seating myself on the other end of the table, gaining a muffled grunt in responce.

He never says much. A great difference from the bragging, loudmouthed Slytherin I thought I knew in school. But school is far away from us now, I realise as I sneak a glace at the pale boy in front of me. The Draco Malfoy, the Harry Potter from that time, they both seem so distant. As if all of that was something that happened in another time. Between two totally different people. Never between us. Never between_ this _Malfoy, _this _Potter in this easy, comfortable silence we have created around us.

For the most time he ignores me, always making sure to keep his nose buried in a book. I feel as though I am watching him through a shield of glass; I talk and talk and he can't seem to hear me. But when I finally manage to lure him out from behind that shield, he's nearly human.

"What are you looking at?"

I'm startled out of my ponderings by that deep voice to realise I have been staring at him for god knows how long. "Nothing," I mumble, feeling a faint blush creep over my nose. He keeps looking at me with a puzzled expression. I fidget in my seat, not knowing where to look. Those steel gray eyes never fail to make me totally speechless. After a while I see one corner of his mouth rise into an involuntary shadow of a smile. He snorts with amusement, turning back to his book.

I watch his eyes quickly follow the lines in the book, his slender fingers tapping softly against the cover as they always do. As if the book allows him to hear a song, a secret melody meant only for him.

"You're staring again." he says, ill-disguised amusement in his voice, not lifting his eyes from the book.

I ignore him, suddenly realising we have something more important to discuss. "Don't you have to feed today?" I ask, my voice trembling slightly besides my best efforts, efficiently breaking the comfortable atmosphere in the room. The tapping stops, and after a few seconds Malfoy turns slowly towards me. "It has been a week," he admits, voice soft but reserved.

I nod softly, smiling reassuringly, somehow trying to fix what was broken. The feeding is the worst part of our week. The best part of my week.

Ever since that day, the day of which we do not speak, we made a silent agreement that he should only feed off me as he did off Hermione that one time. It's still hard; even through the wrist I can feel the pull. But it's only a slight resemblance to the one through the throat. I try to push the thought away, reminding myself that the last time was a mistake. A foolish thing to do, we could both get hurt in the process of letting it go too far, like we did. Bloodthirts and teenage lust is not a good combination, of course someone would get hurt.

Decidedly me.

I sigh, making Malfoy's eyes turn to me with a worried glimpse. To not worry him of anything, to get to over with so that our lives can go back to normal, I raise from my seat. "Well, shall we?"

I do not wait for his answer, knowing there will be none. I feel his discomfort as he pads silently behind me to his room. There I sit down by the head of the bed, and Malfoy takes a seat a good two feet from me, making sure no parts of us touch. I reach out my right arm for him to take, sighing softly. _This is not what I want._

He glances at me with slight concern, before grabbing my hand with cold, yet surprisingly gentle fingers, pulling it towards his mouth. I cast him another reassuring glance before I watch him sink his bared fangs into the flesh. A shudder travels through my body. From the wonderful, familiar hot ache in my arm, up to my shoulders and down my spine, fluttering like butterflies. And still, even after all these weeks in which I have gotten used to the though that this is all I'll get, it's not right. It's still not enough.

I shudder again as another shiver runs through my body. Of course it feels wonderful. But it's only a spark. I need more. I need the flames, the fire.

_This is not enough._

I feel Malfoy's urgency take off, and soon he is lapping at the wounds. As soon as they are closed, he casts me a apologetic look, let's go of my hand and bolts through the door. My arm, seemingly unable to support itself, falls limply to my side. I sigh, the noise coming out like a sob, and I swallow loudly a few times to keep the tears away. I lie down on my back, reminding myself of my promise not to shed any tears over this. It's totally idiotic.

It's just a little blood.

_Yes_, I sigh as I stare up at the cracked roof above me._ Just a little blood._

* * *

Silence.

A slight clucking sound echoing around me, bouncing off white porcelain and whiter skin. The water shifts me gently back and forth, squeezing me. Suffocating me. Keeping me safe, keeping me in my dreamlike state. A green light from somewhere above breaks through the surface. Green, like Potter's eyes.

But there is no Potter here. Only the vast silence. No noisy raven-haired boy disrupting my haven. I wish I could stay here forever. _Wouldn't that be lovely?_ No more having to interrupt my studying to watch the dimwit eat lunch. No more having to explain every other word I say just because Potter wouldn't open a dictionary to save his life. No more candles to burn down my walls. No more warmth.

Only calm and quiet. Darkness. Serenity.

Loneliness.

_Silence._

Panic filling my lungs with water, I surface.

* * *

It must be May by now, I realise as I watch the moon reflect its blue light on the last patches of snow on the otherwise bare ground. How surprisingly quickly time flies when one doesn't sleep; it all feels like a very long day, until one day one realises the months that have passed. Or maybe time has just passed quicker since Potter got here.

I shake my head, trying but not managing to make myself hope for the boy to leave already. I have grown too accustomed to the house smelling like candles again, to all the noise he makes, to his incomprehensible chatter about all things involving Quidditch. To that longing expression he gets when he stares at me for a long while.

A shiver runs through my body, though the wind blowing over the rooftop is the warmest I have felt here yet. I look over the rooftops ahead of me, feeling the despair that has been churning in the pit of my stomach all day.

I can't live like this. I can't keep falling into that comfortable life we lead, only to be brutally shock out of it every time I find him staring at me like that. Only to break it when I have to feed again.

Every time I have to break away and leave him with that bewildered, lost, _abandoned_ expression on his face, I promise myself it'll be the last. That next time I will go longer without feeding. Next time I will wait until they bring someone else over.

But then he looks at me, that soft, sad smile playing on his lips. _"Well, shall we?"_

And I lose. For while I can't bear to leave him, resisting him is much harder. Useless.

I run a hand violently through my by now overgrown hair, a low growl erupting from my throat. I can't keep going like this. I can't give him what he wants. And still... I can't seem to take it away either.

The growl softens into a sob as I stare out in to oblivion. I can't live like this, with him.

I can't live without him.


	12. Arrogance and Ignorance

"Didn't Dumbledore use to come and visit you once in a while?"

I cast a glance at Potter over my book. "Yes, he did. Before you came here." I mutter, barely paying attention as I turn back to the pages. "Why?"

After a few minutes of unresponsive silence I sigh deeply and peer over my book anew. Potter is sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, which he has rudely taken the liberty to light. He holds a book in his hands, yet he is not reading. "What is it?"

Biting his lip, he looks up at me warily. "Don't you wonder? Why he hasn't come to see us, I mean."

I fight to keep my expression neutral as I realise the meaning of Potter's words. "I'm sure nothing has happened. We would know." I state, trying to convince myself more than him.

"Would we?" he asks, voicing my worst fears with a furrowed brow. "There are a lot of wards on the house, right? Dumbledore is most likely the only one able to get through them. If something has happened-"

"Then we will find out eventually," I mutter, turning my attention back to my book and taking a more comfortable position in the plush chair. Potter keeps staring at me though, and soon I am forced to acknowledge his existence again. I sigh. "Yes, Potter, what is it?"

He refuses to break eye-contact. "How can you take this so calmly?"

With another sigh I put my book aside. "The most likely reason for Dumbledore neglecting to visit us is probably that he is very busy, with the war and all going on." I state coolly, enunciating every word carefully as if addressing a child. Which he is, at least mentally. "If, by some miraculous means something _would _have happened to the Headmaster and we really _were_ stuck behind these wards, then what? I doubt that we could break the wards even if we tried."

Potter looks as if he's about to protest, and I hurry to cut off any objections he might have. "We are fine here, and you won't have to worry about starving to death either. I doubt the dumbwaiter would stop working even if something _were_ to happen to Dumbledore."

Potter sits quietly for a long minute, but I can see by the angry pout of his mouth that this conversation is not yet over. Patiently, I wait for the raven haired boy's response.

"Do you really not care about the other people out there _at all_?" he finally asks, pinning me to my seat with a gaze of both rage and sadness. "With me locked up here, were Dumbledore to die, there would be nothing left to stop Voldemort."

I jump at that name, but my attention is caught by something else Potter said. "Potter, you don't actually _believe_ all that crap about you fighting the Dark Lord, do you?" I ask in a dazed state of wonderment for the boy's naïvete. "I know that you have escaped him loads of times, but... Isn't it time you ignored what everyone else tells you that your 'destiny' is, and started to think for yourself? Then you might finally realise it is all a bunch of nonsense."

I expected him to get mad at me and yell at me until he realises that I am right, but surprisingly enough Potter just smiles at me softly. "I'm sorry Malfoy, but all that _nonsense_ really is true." Smile widening at my sceptical sneer, he continues. "When I was little, a prophecy was made. It says that for all of this to end, Voldemort will have to kill me, or me him."

_A prophecy? _The word echoes in my subconscious and I suddenly have a hard time breathing. "A _real _prophecy?" I finally manage to catch my breath to ask. "Not one of those tea-readings Trelawney does?"

Potter sneers slightly, but nods. "Well, it was Trelawney, actually." he admits. I snort loudly at this. "But it _is_ real. They had a copy of it at the Ministry."

For once I find I have nothing to say. Descending from a long line of pure-blood wizards, I am not foolish enough to doubt the power prophecies possess.

Potter says it's either him or the Dark Lord. But it won't be the Dark Lord, not in a million years.

_He is going to die?_

I think of the people who did this to him. Dumbledore cannot seriously believe that Potter stands a chance, can he? I stare at the boy in front of me; that strong face, that shock of inky hair. The long, lean body he holds with that lazy posture I have grown so familiar with. He looks skinny and ragged, not the image of a hero at all. And yet he is so damn beautiful.

He will never stop being beautiful.

The realisation shocks me to the bone. He will never have the chance to grow old and pale and wrinkly, to gain thatches of gray in that unruly hair. _Fucking Dumbledore_. Had he not started training Potter to be the boy hero from the moment he entered the wizarding world, the Dark Lord might have ignored Potter all together. Did not Dumbledore realise he was setting the prophecy in action by letting this boy, this _child_ take over the burden of killing the most dangerous wizard of all times?

"Malfoy? What's wrong?" Potter's voice sounds from somewhere distant. I focus my gaze on his green eyes, and it pains me to realise he really _is_ nothing but a child yet. He knows nothing of war, nothing of the evils of this world. And why should he? He should allowed to be carefree and naïve and sixteen for what little time he has left.

"I'll look after you." I hear myself murmur, surprising myself more than him. But to my disturbance I realise that what I said is true._ I'll look after him. _I'll be as close to him as I can. To stop him from realising that the boy hero's glorious victory over the madman only happens like that in fairy tales. To protect him from having to suspect even his closest friends of betrayal. To prevent him from agenising his own mortality.

Yes, I'll look after him. Until the end. _His_ _end_. For I will have to live on to see the hell this world will become.

**­­­­­­­­­­­­­___________________________________________________________________**

"I'll look after you." he says gravely, steel gray eyes thatched with foreboding. It frightens me to realise that if even Malfoy is scared enough for my well-being to tell me so himself, I really am in trouble. And what frightens me even more is that I don't even have the presence of mind to _be _scared; right now I only manage to feel giddy about the fact that Malfoy _actually_ cares. Enough to voice it, to a degree at least.

I can only smile back at him, in great fear of doing something stupid if I were to try and say anything. I turn back to my book, and watch from the corner of my eye as he does the same, latching us into silence once again. This comfortable silence that we are both so terrified of breaking.

It is as if we are frightened of filling the silence with unnecessary words. Too many conversations leave too many things unsaid. But how I long to put that cat up on the table. If Malfoy were anyone else, I would. If I still were the person I used to be, I would.

"Are you afraid?"

I look up at him, as surprised as ever when Malfoy starts a conversation. "Of what?" He furrows his brow, annoyed, knowing that I know exactly what he's talking about. "Of facing the Dark Lord."

I snort softly, casting a glance into the fire next to me before turning back to Malfoy. "_Somebody_ has to do it."

He stares back at me, angry now. "It doesn't have to be you." I shake my head at him, closing my book loudly. "Didn't you hear me properly? It _does_ have to be me."

"Nothing is wrong with my hearing," Malfoy, too, puts his book aside. "But prophecies are subjective. They only show one of many possibilities."

"What?" My voice sounds a lot weaker than I would like it to. The prophecy is just _one_ possibility? Why didn't Dumbledore tell me this? I stare into Malfoy's bright eyes, searching for confirmation. He looks back at me with something resembling compassion, if a Malfoy is able to feel such an emotion. That's all the confirmation I need.

_So it really is true._ I don't know whom I am more angry at; Dumbledore for not telling me, or myself for believing Dumbledore so blindly. I turn my head to the floor in an attempt to hide my disgrace.

But in the end, it makes little difference.

I hear Malfoy get up from his chair and move towards me until I see his feet right in front of me. He sits down, cross-legged, on the floor. Far closer than our silent agreement allows. "So you see," he murmurs softly, leaning a bit towards me. "You don't have to try and fight the Dark Lord on your own. You don't have to-"

"But I do," I cut him off, raising my head and focusing my gazing somewhere beyond Malfoy's left shoulder. "If no one knows of any other way to beat him, and there is a _chance_ that I coulddo it, then I have to at least _try_." I turn to face the blonde in front of me, and find his face closer to mine than I expected. He stares at me with a blank, yet somehow forlorn expression. I try to look away, but find I can't break the eye contact. The air grows very silent. It is thick with expectation, and I suddenly find it increasingly harder to breathe.

"Aren't you scared?" Malfoy asks again, inches from my face, whispering as if afraid to break the spell that surrounds us. In spite of myself I realise I'm leaning closer, trembling with apprehension. "Terrified." I whisper, feeling his breath on my lips. I lean just a little bit closer, and-

He startles away, up upon his feet, looking towards the double doors to the library. "Malfoy, wha-" I begin, but am cut off by Malfoy's hand suddenly pressed against my mouth as he grabs my arm and jerks me to my feet next to him. "Shh!" he whispers, head still turned towards the door, as if listening. He still has a iron-like grip on my arm, keeping me pressed to him. My heart is beating a hundred and five, so loud he can probably hear it. But Malfoy shows nothing of that, only staring intently at the door.

"Somebody is in the house."

I would gasp if it weren't for the cold hand on my mouth. "Stay here, don't come out unless I tell you to." he whispers, letting go of me and exiting the room without looking back, silently as a ghost. I watch he double doors click shut and am left only to wait, wishing I hadn't left my wand in my room.

**­­­­­­­­­­­­­___________________________________________________________________**

"Terrified," he whispers, so close to me. Too close to me. I am spellbound by that word, unable to move away despite my better knowledge. He is so close that I can hear his rapidly beating pulse, I can smell the coffee he drank this morning, I can se the shudder of his eyelashes as he leans ever closer.

And that's when I hear the noise from the East Wing.

I jump to my feet in less than a second, leaving a startled Potter on the floor. He begins to protest but I cut him off by dragging him to his feet and covering his mouth. His breath is hot against my hand and his body trembles against mine, making it harder for me to focus on the noises. "Somebody is in the house," I tell him before letting go and pushing myself from him. "Stay here, don't come out unless I tell you to."

He hasn't time to answer me before I have already shut the doors behind me. I stalk the corridor, putting out the few lit candles on the wall to give me at least the cover of darkness. As I approach the East Wing, the voices get louder. I can only assume the uninvited guests are not trying to keep their arrival undetected. Still, one cannot be sure if they are friends or foes. The closer I get though, the more I'm starting to think I'd rather have Death Eaters visiting me than these people. The Weasel's rabid growl echoes in the hall. "Harry!? Harry!"

"Ron, stop shouting." I hear Granger scold her idiot boyfriend. The Weasel answers with a snort and an even louder growl. "Where is he? If that disgusting serpent has laid a single hand on him I will-"

"Will what?" The Weasel practically jumps through the roof as I step past the corner. I leer viciously at the moron, looking past him at the other arrivals. Granger stares at me with surprise, as does my cousin who stands behind her. Behind them Mr and Mrs Weasley are just entering the house. They have taken the liberty of lighting all the lamps in the hall, something I won't forgive them for as easily as I would Potter.

"Oh, Draco. Good afternoon," Mr Weasley exclaims, making an effort to look calm though I can sense the fear radiating from him. "Excuse us the disturbance, but there is to be an Order meeting tonight. We came in early to prepare." His voice shudder slightly, as if he is afraid I will kill them all if I don't like what he is saying. As if a true Malfoy would ever behave so barbarically.

"Certainly, Mr Weasley," I state in the most terrifyingly civil voice I can muster. "Make yourselves at home, you know where everything you need is, I presume?" They all nod, except the Weasel who seems to be somewhere between throwing a rage-fit and wetting himself. "Good," I smile, which seems to terrify them even more. "Ask me if you need anything. Now if you excuse me, I think it is best that I go and fetch Potter for you." With these words I turn around on my heels and stalk back towards the library.

To my surprise, Potter actually obeyed my command of staying put. As I open the doors he jumps up from the chair, _my _chair, that he has been sitting in. "Well?" he whispers, hurrying towards me.

"You have guests," I state coolly, turning around back to the hallway again.

"Who?" he asks, his steps loud behind me. I ignore him and lead him in silence through the dark corridor. There is nothing for me to say anymore. Nothing to make these last months count now that Potter's _real_ friends are back.

We step out into the hall, and stupid fond feelings emerge within me as I watch Potter blink frantically to get used to the bright lighting.

"Harry!" both Granger and Weasley gasp, and within seconds the they have pounced on Potter, filling the room with hugs and shouts and hundreds of questions. The Golden Trio calms down and Mr and Mrs Weasley join in, and I believe this is the first time I wished to be a part of that family with the hideous red hair. I sneak around the heap to retire to my library, to anywhere really where I don't have to look at these people. These people who are like rodents, who will soon devour the fragile truce Potter and I have built around us.

Now, where is that arsenic?

**­­­­­­­­­­­­­___________________________________________________________________**

Suffocated by Hermione's fierce hug, I am forced to watch Malfoy sneak out of the room over her shoulder. "Oh Harry, it's so good to see you again," Mrs Weasley smiles at me warmly.

"You too, Mrs Weasley," I smile back, turning to hug her as well. As I pull away she turns to pick up a big box from the floor. I bet it contains food. And I'm right.

"I'd better get started on dinner, everyone will arrive in about two hours." she says hectically. Mr Weasley smiles at me again before following his wife to the kitchen. As I turn back towards Ron and Hermione, I realise they are both carrying luggage. "What are you doing with those?" I point to their bags.

"Oh," Hermione picks up her suitcase. "Well, since school's over for the year, we are going to stay here for the summer." They both smile widely at me. "Yeah, isn't that cool?" Ron grins, picking up his old and worn gym bag. I stare at the both of them with wide eyes. "School's over? Already?"

And now they're staring at _me_ like I'm the freakshow. Just like the good old times. "Harry?" Ron stares at me like I've grown a second head. "You didn't _know_ that school ended? We thought you'd be counting minutes here." I stare at the floor, realising I too _had_ thought I'd be counting minutes when I heard I'd be coming here. And yet... I didn't even know it was May already.

"Well..." I begin, biting my lip. "I've had other stuff to do." The silence that follows is tense, and I realise they both think I've spent all this time moping in Sirius' room. I _did,_ in the beginning, but... better not tell them about the rest.

The silence grows uncomfortable. I cough loudly. "Uhm, we should probably take your stuff to your bedrooms."

"Oh, sure," Hermione smiles softly, following me to the stairs to the North Wing. Ron looks a little doubtful at first, before tailing after. "OK, just see to it that I won't have to sleep anywhere near the Ferret."

"Don't worry," I grin at him, opening the door to one of the guest rooms. "Malfoy sleeps in the West Wing."

Ron swings his bag up on the four-poster bed, looking like he's about to say something else. Luckily Hermione cuts him off.

"So, how are you getting along? Is he still as mean as ever?" Before I have time to answer Ron cuts in. "Of course he is still as mean as ever. I don't care what Dumbledore thinks, the git is throughout evil. He won't change, believe me. A Malfoy doesn't dye its hair."

"Ron! That's not even a real metaphor!" Hermione scolds, but I can hear the smile behind it. Then she turns serious. "I know Malfoy has never been anything but mean to us. But that doesn't mean he's _evil_." She turns towards me. "Don't you agree, Harry?"

I'm glad the room is still not lit, so neither of my friends can see the blush creeping over my nose. "Uhm..." I mumble, exiting to the hallway again. "Malfoy, he- well yeah, I mean he's not nice, _per se_, but... I don't believe he's evil, either."

Ron starts shouting something inane, but Hermione cuts him off by wielding her heavy suitcase to his knee. While Ron drops to the floor swearing, Hermione smiles at me warmly. Too warmly for being because of the subject of our worst nemesis. "Yeah, I told you," she sneers at a still-in-pain Ron. "He can't be all bad. I mean, he _did _chose to fight for us instead of running away."

Ron's snort echoes in the hall. "Yeah, because he's a freakin' monster who needs human blood to survive."

"Oh, honestly, Ron," Hermione glares at the red-head. "Don't be so insensitive. Malfoy didn't choose to become what he is. I think-"

"Can't we talk about something else already?" I sigh, the conversation about Malfoy heating up way too much for comfort.

"With pleasure," Ron growls as we enter the other guest room. "It's enough that I have to live with the git, no need to talk about him all the time too."

I snicker as Hermione smacks him with the suitcase a second time before starting to unpack her things.


	13. Another Bag of Bricks

Dinner is an awkward affair.

I bump Professor Dumbledore and the Aurors Kingsley Shacklebolt and Madeye Moody in the hall on my way to the dining room. In fact I would've been thrown into a casket if I still were mortal, as Moody decides to test his theory that vampires indeed _can_ be killed with spells. Dumbledore just chuckles cheerfully, calmly stating that it's probably safe to say that the theory failed.

Mundungus Fletcher arrives just as Mrs Weasley serves us the Shepherd's Pie. I fight the urge to tell Mrs Weasley to switch his silver cutlery into plastic ones. Maybe he wouldn't steal those.

They all chat merrily about inane things like one big family. Until of course, somebody remembers that I exist, and has to try and include me in the conversation. Each and every attempt ending in an awkward disaster that keeps everyone quiet for the next five minutes until they come up with a new subject. No one looks at me for more than a split seconds time, and everyone avoids looking at the empty table in front of me where my plate should be.

Of course, it's not really all that bad until Lupin arrives. Just like the last time, all the hair on my body is standing as soon as the werewolf walks through the front door. Despite the fact that _I _know I'm not supposed to slaughter my old professor, the vampire in me doesn't. Trying to keep the monster in me at bay, I look over to Potter on the other side of the table. He meets my gaze and I see realisation dawn on his face. "Malfoy..." he whispers, but with that my consciousness slips under the vampire's. With a snarl I rush up from my seat, knocking over both Tonks and Mr Weasley on the way. I make it to the dining room doors until I manage to get hold of myself.

Pushing myself away from the doors, I rush over to the oh, so familiar corner of the room. I lean back against the wall, my hands clenched so tight my nails are digging into my palms. Swallowing loudly several times, I manage to calm my breathing just in time to hear the doors open.

From the corner of my eye I watch Lupin check twice to make sure that I'm not attacking him before he enters. Unfortunately, that makes him linger by the door, far too close to me. "Would you- ...please... Would you just take a seat by the table?" I grit through clenched teeth at the professor who freezes like a deer in the headlights as I address him. "Yes. Yes, of course." Lupin mumbles, skitting to the table with a speed I would not have thought him to be capable of.

Eventually my breathing calms down and I am able to unclench my hands. I return to my seat between Mr Weasley and Tonks, still clenching my jaw in an effort not to roar at the werewolf on the opposite side of the table.

A terrified silence lays like carpet.

"So, shall we move on to the subjects of the evening?" Dumbledore's cheerful voice cuts through the thick silence like a hot knife through butter.

The meeting is adjourned in the living room while Mrs Weasley serves everyone tea. After serving Granger she turns to me. "Draco, would you like some-" When realising her mistake, she takes a deep breath, taking two steps back. "Oh."

The room grows dead silent for the second time this evening. The fact that something so small can break the mood so thoroughly is positively ridiculous. I myself am more appalled by the fact that Mrs Weasley dared think me so familiar as to call me by my first name, than the fact that she forgot I'd rather drink her blood than the tea. I look around in the silent room, locking eyes with Potter for a brief second before turning back to a terrified Mrs Weasley.

I plaster my most sincere polite fake smile onto my face. "No thank you, Mrs Weasley. Caffeine is not good for me."

The silence continues, until suddenly I hear a laugh from the other side of the room. I don't have to look to recognise Potter's clinging voice. He sits on the couch between Lupin and the Weasel, who both stare at him as if he is crazy. Well, I guess one can't be totally sane when laughing at a vampire.

I sneer wickedly at Potter, unable to put any real malice in my actions towards the laughing idiot. "Well, you know I have trouble sleeping."

Dumbledore's cough cuts off Potter's next laughing spree. "Excuse me, Draco. Maybe we could return to the actual topics?" Everyone nods in agreement and take their seats.

"As most of you already know, Kingsley examined the scene of the breakout, but didn't find any vital clues as to how it happened." He turns to give the word to Shacklebolt, but warning signals have gone off in my head. _Breakout?_

"What?" I croak. "What breakout?" I lock eyes with Potter, who suddenly looks very self-conscious. The others just turn to stare at me in surprise, Dumbledore being the first to speak.

"The breakout from Azkaban," he explains, seemingly startled that I'm asking about it. "A number of Death Eaters managed to escape from Azkaban two months ago. The whole wizarding world has been in disorder since then. Didn't you know about it?"

I shake my head in confusion. "No, I didn't. How would I have-" _Oh. _Realisation dawns on me as I turn towards Potter. "You. _That's_ why you came here. With people breaking out from Azkaban, not even Hogwarts is safe." My voice is cool and collected, yet Potter shudders under my gaze. I want to scream at him. I want to hurt him. God, how I despise him in this moment. And yet I can only bite back my rage and turn back to Dumbledore. "Which were the Death Eaters that escaped?" I ask, though I fear I already know the answer.

The pity I see and despise in the Headmaster's eyes confirms my fears. "Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange, as well as Rodolphus' brother Rabastan, Vincent Crabbe Sr and an old man named Caleb Ivanovic." He sighs deeply. "And Lucius."

I nod, not having expected anything else. Foolishly hoped, perhaps, but not expected. I shudder at the thought about Father, somewhere out there, searching for me. Merlin, I had forgotten the chilling sensation of having his shadow hanging over me. "How did they escape?"

"That is what we are trying to find out." Shacklebolt answers in Dumbledore's place. "The other prisoners were blinded by some unknown spell. They couldn't tell us much anything."

"And the Dementors?" I ask, barely paying attention, mind still wondering about said blinding spell. I look at the other peoples faces and immediately see the fear and discomfort my mentioning of the nightmarish guards of Azkaban has brought out. Shacklebolt, too, looks around, and looks much like he would like to end this conversation as quickly as possible. "They have left, to join You-Know-Who we can only presume." his deep voice utters, much in a fashion stating that the subject is thus concluded. Like I would give everyone such a pleasure.

"That is most likely," I mumble, mainly to myself, leaning back into my chair. Everyone seems to think the conversation is over, and hastily move on to discussing the protection of Muggles and Squibs against the Dark Lord. I listen only with half-a ear. What Shacklebolt said, something about a blinding curse, piqued my interest. Such hurtful spells are very rare, very dark. Technically it could be the work of any Death Eater, and yet something tells me it isn't. "What did the prisoners tell you about that night?" I ask Shacklebolt, drawing the uncomfortable silence into the room again.

"Uhm," the Auror swallows, seemingly caught off guard. "The outbreak happened just after visiting hours, at approximately 8 pm, and the prisoners seem to have been blinded sometime around 7.30. Most of them couldn't tell us anything though, the blindness seems to be permanent and makes them very disoriented. Many are so scarred by what happened that they refuse to eat."

"It's no less than what they deserve!" roars Moody, gaining a disapproving glance from Mrs Weasley. "They have to atone for what they have done! Have they earned pity or forgiveness for their crimes just because they are now _blind_?!"

Moody's words cut trough me like a knife. Suddenly all the pieces fit together. Blindness, distortion, nausea...

_Forgiveness._

It all sounds awfully familiar, doesn't it?

_"Father, please stop this!" you scream as you blindly crash into the furniture. You reach for where the table is, but suddenly it moves and you hear a beastly roar. A high pitched laughter echoes all around as you fight to escape from the monster in the darkness._

_"Son, you must learn your lesson before you can be pardoned." your father's voice sounds form somewhere through the wild laughter. "Father!" you scream and try to make your way towards him, but laying on the floor in the darkness you find you cannot rise. The insane laugh grows louder and louder, closing in on you from every side, echoing in your ears, in your head until it becomes painful. You scream and feel a blow to your gut for your insolence. _

_Suddenly the laughter stops, and the silence is deafening. You hear a quiet trickle of water form somewhere, and suddenly the roar of waves surround you. "Father, I'm sorry!" you sob before the waves take you over, pulling you deeper and deeper down. The breath goes out of your lungs and violent nausea takes over. You feel so sick you think you will throw up your own intestines. And then there is that familiar cold, hollow laugh in the water. It surrounds you from every angle, suffocating you. You try to escape it to the surface, but you no longer know which way is up. You're sinking, sinking..._

_And suddenly it is over. You blink and find yourself on the drawing room floor, staring at your father's boots. There are no longer any wild beasts, no water apart from the tears wetting your cheeks. Your father bends down, grabbing your chin with a cold hand and lifting your face up._

_"You are forgiven."_

_And he smiles._

**­­­­­­­­­­­­­___________________________________________________________________**

"It's no less than what they deserve!" roars Moody, gaining a disapproving glance from Mrs Weasley. "They have to atone for what they have done! Have they earned pity or forgiveness for their crimes just because they are now blind?!" Hermione stares at Moody with disgust, I myself quite agree with the crazy old Auror. I'm just about to ask Hermione how she can side with murderers and rapists, when Ron tugs at my sleeve.

"Look, mate. What's up with the Ferret?" he whispers. I look to where he is pointing and see Malfoy sitting in his chair, on edge like he's sitting on needles. He stares at the floor without really seeing it, his hands gripping his knees frantically. I rise from the couch, ignoring Ron's surprised "Harry?".

"Malfoy?" I cross the floor, turning everyone else's attention towards the pale boy in the corner.

"What's wrong with him?" A loud crash follows Tonks' question as she drops the plate she was holding.

"Harry, what are you doing?" I squat down in front of Malfoy. Malfoy is paler than ever, his face stiff as if carved out of marble. But his hands are shaking, his sharp nails digging into the fabric of his trousers. "Malfoy?" I ask cautiously, waving my hand in front of his face. "Malfoy?!"

Suddenly his eyes focus, and he seems to come to his senses. He looks at my hand in front of his face and sneers at me. "Do you want me to bite off your hand, Potter?" In spite of his cold tone, I know there is no malice behind the words. While everyone behind me takes a sudden intake of breath, I just smile at the blonde. "Glad to have you back. Are you OK?"

He is quiet for a long moment before staring past me and addressing Shacklebolt again. "Do they have hallucinations?" It takes me a while to realise he is still taking about the prisoners. Shacklebolt too, apparently. He looks startled for a minute. "Uhm, yes, they do. How did you-"

But Moody cuts him off. "Crazy as kneazles on Prozac, each and every one!" He roars. Now it is Dumbledore's turn to silence Moody with a stern look. The professor turns to Malfoy with a furrowed brow. "Do you know this curse, Draco?"

I turn to look at Malfoy just as he straightens his posture and tightens his jaw, assembling his perfect Malfoy-mask. "Yes, the Venia curse. It's an old family charm. From the Black side, naturally - they are known for their dark spells." He looks out the window and sneers to himself. "My mother taught it to Father. He quite liked it."

Ron mutters something that sounds an awful lot like "Why am I not surprised?", but Malfoy silences him with a single glance. He stands up and walks past me to the window, standing with his back towards us. I stare at him in awe. There is just something in his being, his presence that demands everyone's undivided attention.

"It is not a simple blindness spell. The occurring blindness is just one of the symptoms." His voice is deep and somewhat quiet, and still it carries perfectly to everyone in the room. "Other symptoms are the hallucinations, distortion and a gut-turning nausea." Malfoy turns around, the sunset from outside creating a halo of light around him. He looks much like a fallen angel, foretelling the destruction of the human race. I shudder with foreboding. "You might hear voices, feel wild animals maul you to death or have an experience of drowning, all the while while the nausea tears your intestines apart. The hallucination changes constantly, and never for the better."

I look around the room and see disgusted faces all around me, Mrs Weasley looks much like she wouldn't want to hear anymore. Only Moody and Professor Dumbledore look unmoved, though all traces of cheerfulness have disappeared from the Headmaster's features.

Malfoy seems not to notice all of this, he only continues in that cold, impersonal, inhuman voice. "As I said, it is not a blindness spell in particular. It is a forgiveness-spell." He looks out into the room expectantly, but his words don't seem to lit any lights in anyone. Malfoy sighs and continues. "_Piaculum Venia_ is a kind of punishment. It dissolves only when you are sorry for what you've done. Weird thing to use it on criminals though, since it's used particularly for chastising children."

At this Mrs Weasley gasps loudly, and everyone else looks just as horrified. "Children?!" Hermione exclaims in rage. "That's barbaric!" Everyone nods in agreement, only Malfoy looks completely unmoved. He only raises an eyebrow at Hermione. "Granger, it's a mean to teach obedience. Nothing more."

"Nothing more?!" a horrified Mrs Weasley shrieks, staring at Malfoy. "People who do such things should not be allowed to have children!" I turn to look at Malfoy, who seems genuinely surprised that everyone else is so appalled. He sighs and rolls his eyes. "Yes, yes. Do you want to hear what I know or not?"

"Yes, Molly, please let Draco finish," Dumbledore smiles at Mrs Weasley, who still looks like she would like to say a few chosen words to Malfoy. Malfoy casts a grateful look at Dumbledore before his face turns to stone again. "Anyway, it's been used in the Black family for as long as anyone can remember, and my mother taught it to Father when they married."

"So," Dumbledore murmurs, looking at Malfoy with a furrowed brow. "You believe that it was your father who cursed those prisoners?" Malfoy snorts at the Headmaster as if he were an utter fool.

"Well, one _would_ think that," he drawls at everyone in the room for being idiots that _did_ think that. "But you see, though it was one of Father's favourite curses, he could never quite master it." And then every emotion dies on his face. "Never quite like Mother."


	14. Precious Things

"Your _mother_?" Hermione speaks up, staring at Malfoy with a strange mixture of confusion, disgust and fascination. Malfoy looks at the girl with dead eyes. "Yes."

"But she hasn't ever been under suspicion for being a Death Eater, even when Lucius was sent to Azkaban. No Dark Mark was found on her." Dumbledore objects, looking to Kingsley for confirmation. Kingsley nods slowly, looking from Malfoy to Dumbledore and back again. "That's true, we never found any proof against her. And believe me, certain people really tried." he adds, raising an eyebrow in Moody's direction.

"Oh no, Mother never took the Dark Mark. She doesn't approve of tattoos." Malfoy confirms, causing Moody to huff disbelievingly into his pocket flask. "But," Malfoy continues, taking a seat in his chair again. "She would do anything Father asks of her. Besides, how else would Father have got a wand into Azkaban?"

"But visitors aren't allowed wands either, right?" Ron asks, challenge in his voice. Malfoy sneers at him in disdain. "Obviously not, _Weasley_. But such mediocre checks as they do are easy for a Malfoy to bypass." A wicked grin spreads on his face as he leers at Ron. "I once smuggled in _my _wand, and I was only eleven."

Everyone stares at Malfoy in shock. Surprisingly, I am the first to speak. "You've been in Azkaban?" Hmm, that was probably _not_ the question everyone was wondering about, for Hermione cuts off Malfoy's answer by shrieking: "Why would you _do _such a thing?!"

Malfoy just sneers at Hermione, and turns towards me. "Yes, I've been to Azkaban. Visiting aunt Bella. And," he turns to Hermione, looking very bored and annoyed by this conversation. "Not that it's any of your business, but it was a test."

"A _test_?" Mr Weasley asks, cautiously voicing the question that is on everyone's lips. Malfoy nods, running a hand through his hair and sighing in obvious ennui. "Yes. Father wished for me to go to school in Durmstrang, but Mother insisted on Hogwarts. The only of his decisions she ever objected to, I believe." A slight scoff escapes him.

"Anyway, Father told her he would let me attend Hogwarts, on the condition that I passed a test of his choice. This way I was to prove that I was... _Malfoy_ enough without needing to go to Durmstrang. So," Malfoy shrugs slightly, leaning his head back in a leisurely manner. "I was to smuggle my new wand into Azkaban. And I guess it's quite obvious to say I passed." Malfoy lifts his chin, looking very pleased and proud of himself. As if he still were that eleven-year old boy who miraculously managed to trick the staff of the prison of Azkaban.

I shake the astonishment off me and turn to glance at the two Aurors. Kingsley stares at Malfoy in as much awe as everyone else, but Moody looks quite like he would like to rip the boy's head off. I wait for the outburst of the one-eyed Auror, but it is interrupted by Dumbledore's all too merry laugh.

"That's very impressive, Draco. It's good that you have informed the Aurors that they need to tighten the security in the prison." he smiles nonchalantly at Malfoy, who only raises an indulgent eyebrow in answer. Dumbledore's smile soon turns more serious, though the twinkle in his eyes never disappears. "So you're certain it was your Mother who led the breakout of Azkaban?"

Malfoy purses his mouth in disdain. "No, she did not _lead _the breakout. She most likely only smuggled a wand past the guards, used the Venia curse on the other prisoners, and got the wand to Father. Then _he_ broke out my aunt and the others, while Mother probably walked silently behind him, wondering which petunias to set in the garden this summer." Steel gray eyes blaze at the Headmaster. "Father led the breakout. To my mother it was most likely just another order from Father. And like any such it had to be obeyed."

"Are you trying to say that she is to be considered innocent?" Moody spits out, getting out of his seat in such a hurry that his chair falls over. "Because that's not going to happen. She is going to Azkaban for this."

I watch Malfoy in fear, waiting for his attempt to protect his mother. Malfoy sighs again, looking slightly down his nose at Moody. "Calm down, I know she is guilty. But we can't send her to Azkaban."

"What?!" Ron and Moody roar at the same time, both being silenced by a very stern look from Mrs Weasley. Malfoy just snorts and looks over to Dumbledore. "As at least the Headmaster probably realises, there is a very high probability that Father is in contact with Mother regularly. She won't get those messages in Azkaban."

"But Draco," Kingsley begins with a furrowed brow. "We've been monitoring Mrs Malfoy's mail since the breakout, and have found absolutely nothing even remotely suspicious." Malfoy only sneers back, an arrogant smile on his thin lips. "You wouldn't, would you?"

That is too much for Moody, who draws his want in rage. "Now you insolent little-"

"Moody!"

Before I have time to realise what I am doing, I find myself standing in front of the Auror, staring down at the wand pointed between my eyes. Moody's face is red with anger and surprise, but suddenly those emotions are tinged with fright. I look over my shoulder to see what Moody is staring at, and find Malfoy standing right behind me. He looks past me at Moody, his whole body rigid and shaking in suppressed rage. His eyes are wide and stone hard, and his mouth is wrought into a sneer, exposing long, white fangs.

"Potter, move." he murmurs quietly, not even looking at me. Before I have time to move my feet, somebody pulls me backwards, leaving me to stare at Malfoy and Moody in shock. Malfoy takes a step forward so that he is staring right down at Moody's wand. "So, what are you waiting for?" His voice is full of challenge and insolence,an I can see Moody shake with restraint.

"Alastor, that is enough." Dumbledore's voice comes from somewhere, but neither one seems to notice. Malfoy only leans further forward, his challenging sneer widening, baring more of those lethal teeth. "You want to curse me, feel free to do so. You want to kill me, be my guest. I am at your mercy." He stretches out his arms, never breaking eye contact with Moody.

I don't know how long we stand there, watching this bizarre, frightening scene; Moody pointing his wand at Malfoy who is just standing there, waiting, in the middle of the floor. Finally though, Mr Weasley seems to realise something needs to be done. He walk slowly up to Moody, grabbing the Aurors hand and lowering it slowly. "Alastor, enough."

Moody cast one last hateful glance at Malfoy before putting his wand back into his pocket and walking back to his chair. Malfoy watches him go, lowering his arms slowly. When Moody has taken his seat their eyes meet again, and Malfoy's face turns suddenly serious. "I know you don't trust me. I know you don't_ like _me, god forbid. But as one of the most successful Aurors in Britain you must realise that we need to find those Death Eaters. As soon as possible. And the fastest way is through my mother."

Moody stares at Malfoy for a long moment, and finally averts his eyes in what can only be interpreted as agreement. Malfoy nods curtly before too walking back to his own chair at the other end of the room.

"Good," Dumbledore smiles, eyes twinkling worse than ever when turning towards Malfoy. "So what do you have in mind?"

Staring silently out the window for a minute, Malfoy turns to the Headmaster. "I will interrogate her, then she will be sent to Azkaban." He leans back into the chair, voice clear and light as if he were talking about the weather. I stare at him, my gut aching when thinking that someone can speak like that about their own mother, evil as she may be.

"Shouldn't someone _qualified_ be the one to do the interrogation?" Hermione pipes up, gaining agreeing nods and mumbles from the others. Only Dumbledore shakes his head. "She has been interrogated before. I think if someone is going to get any information out of her, it is Draco." He gains a grateful nod from Malfoy, and smiles before he continues. "But someone else will have to supervise it. Kingsley, would you do the honours?" he asks the dark man. Kinglsey looks surprised, but agrees nevertheless. "Of course I will, but I doubt she will give up any information with me there."

Before Dumbledore has time to answer, Malfoy turns to Kingley. "Of course you would be under a concealment charm, so she wouldn't see you."

"How will that work?" asks suddenly Tonks, furrowing her brow at Malfoy. "My mother always told me there are strict security charms on the Malfoy Mansion, alerting the family of any uninvited visitors. How will Kingsley get in without your mother noticing it?"

A wicked smile spreads over Malfoy's features, as at a child knowing a secret. "That is true." he sneers at the purple haired witch before turning to inspect his own nails nonchalantly. "But you see, dear cousin, the head of the household can take away those security charms without anyone else noticing. And when Father was sent to Azkaban, it was not Mother who inherited the estate."

"It was not?" Hermione stares at Malfoy. The blonde only snorts. "Of course not. Only when there is no other option do women in the Malfoy line inherit. When Father was imprisoned, everything was passed on to me."

"So," I begin, turning Malfoy's attention towards me. "Even though Lucius is now out of Azkaban, _you_ own everything?"

"Yes." he nods, his intense stare making me sway. Luckily he soon turns away, addressing Kingsley again. "I can just remove the charm for however long it takes, and Mother will never know anyone else was there."

"That sounds very good, Draco." the Headmaster praises, though no one else seems to agree. Kingsley, Mr Weasley, Lupin and Tonks look grave-serious, while Mrs Weasley and Hermione just look worried. Moody and Ron on the other hand look like they would rather die than trust Malfoy and his plan. "What do you say, could we be ready for this to take place within a week's time?" Dumbledore asks Malfoy in that well-known way that makes it sound like one has a choice while it's obvious that they don't.

Malfoy nods once. "Yes, I don't believe that will be a problem." When no one objects and Dumbledore just smiles, Malfoy looks around the room. "If you all excuse me, I will retire now and do some research."

And he hurries past us to the door, his jaw as tense as I have ever seen it. I look after him until he closes the doors behind him. I turn back, trying to listen to what Dumbledore and Kingsley are saying about the protection of Muggles during the war. But somehow I always find my thoughts winding back to Malfoy, what he is doing. _How_ he is doing. I can't shake the feeling that I should go to him, but I can't just leave the meeting to look after Malfoy.

_Besides, he wouldn't want you anyway._

I tell my conscience to stuff it, just in time to realise that everyone is leaving. Absentmindedly saying goodbye to Moody, Dumbledore, Kingsley and Tonks, I still can't stop wondering about Malfoy.

"Now, off to bed with the three of you. It's late." Mrs Weasley commands, ignoring Ron's objections. "Harry, would you be so kind as to show Remus where he can sleep?"

"Of course, Mrs Weasley." I nod and smile at Remus. Bidding the others goodnight, I lead Remus towards the South Wing.

"The real guestrooms yet unvacated are actually in the West Wing, but that's where Malfoy spends most his time. I figured you wouldn't feel too easy sleeping there." I grin at Remus as we pass the dining room and the kitchen. "The kitchen is here as you can see, so Malfoy rarely comes to the South Wing." _Not after today, at least,_ I add to myself, knowing that it's true. He most likely won't talk to me at all now since Hermione and Ron are here to stay. Especially since I didn't tell him about the breakout from Azkaban.

"You seem to get along pretty well." Remus suddenly says, smiling softly at me. I take a fast intake of breath. "What do you mean?" I play indifferent. Poorly.

"Well, I had been under the impression that you two were something of arch enemies at school," He chuckles slightly. "But now I see very little of that. Draco seems to hold an enormous hostility towards the entire world. Towards everyone except you." I snort. _Ridiculous. _We have reached the bedroom, and I stop by the door, grabbing the wall in relief to have something to hold on to.

God, I wish I could believe Remus.

I shake my head slowly, snickering softly. "You are mistaken. Malfoy no more likes me than a rat likes arsenic." I try to keep my voice steady, but Remus doesn't look convinced. He opens the door to the bedroom, but remains on the threshold, smiling. "Don't dismiss it so easily, Harry. That boy has had a hard life, and his current situation is making it no easier." he says, so serious I almost feel self-conscious. "I hope you can let go of whatever grudges you hold against him, because I can see that you have grown to like him too. You wouldn't have stepped in front of Moody like that if you hadn't." Remus smiles widely, and I can only wish that he doesn't notice the blush creeping over my nose.

As I remain silent, Remus continues. "Friendship is a rare thing to find, Harry, and is at times like these more valuable than ever. Try to remember that." he smiles and enters the room. "Goodnight."

The door shuts with a thud. "Goodnight." I answer the empty corridor, wondering about everything just said. Remus is right, even though he has no idea of all that has happened. I should be able to let go of old grudges. I think we did for a while, Malfoy and I. But how can I do that now, with my old life breathing down my neck? With Hermione and Ron here, reminding me of it every day? I can't just give up the past, not with them here.

But I can't give up the present either. I can't give up all those talks with Malfoy. Those talks that yet so subtle, are so irreplaceable. I can't give up all those hours in the library. All those books I pretended to read just to be near him, all that time I spent just waiting for him to grow accustomed to my presence. I can't give it up.

I run to the West Wing.

* * *

He is not in the library. I guess he must be in pretty messed up, then. I walk upstairs to his bedroom and knock on the door. Once. Twice. Nothing.

"Malfoy, if you're in there, please open the door." I focus my ears to search for his voice, for steps, for a single sound indicating he is in there. I measure my options for a moment. I could just leave him alone now and talk to him tomorrow. But if I wait until tomorrow, he might get angrier still during the night. Besides it'll be hard to escape from Ron and Hermione during the day.

I knock again, harder this time. "Malfoy, please open up. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the breakout. Can't we even talk about this?" Eventually I get angry, and common courtesy be damned I open the door without permission. When I enter though, I can't see Malfoy anywhere. But the window is open, and I walk towards it. Standing up on the windowsill, I manage to peek over the roof edge to see the ember of a cigarette glowing in the dark.

"Malfoy, I know you're up there. Please come down. I need to talk to you." I plead.

"Just go away, Potter. I don't have the energy to listen to you right now." Malfoy answers, his voice low but filled with wrath. I sigh, but am too stubborn not to try again. "Please Malfoy. I know you're angry with me, and I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the breakout. But seriously, it didn't seem like such a big deal, and I-"

I get no further before I am violently pushed in through the window, landing quite painfully on my back on the floor. Malfoy is crouching on the ledge, staring at me with flaming eyes, his jaw clenching fervently. "It didn't seem like a big deal, did it?" he hisses, so snake-like I wonder if it isn't Parseltongue. "Well guess what, Potter?" he continues, barefoot stepping down from the windowsill and walking slowly over to me.

"It was a big deal. It was vital information concerning the war. Concerning _my family_!" Malfoy snarls, a beastly sound echoing in the room. He squats down in front of me, exposing his fangs, and for the first time I'm actually afraid of him. "Have _you any_ idea of how stupid I felt, hearing about this?" He leans closer, and I shudder.

"I am already despised by most of the people who were in that room. And now I had to stand there and look like an utter fool, realising that you didn't even trust me with that small piece of information. How did you think that felt?" he growls, leaning over my legs onto his arms . I lean up on my elbows, staring at the vampire above me. Malfoy stares down at the floor for a second before he turns back to meet my gaze.

"I realise that you may not like me all too much, but at least I thought you trusted me more than most. But I guess I was wrong to think that you could let go of old grudges enough to see past them." His voice breaks at the last word, and the snarls sound more like sobs now. I lie paralyzed, staring at the blonde above me for I don't know how long, unable to move or speak.

Eventually Malfoy seems to think I won't answer because his accusations are all true, and he moves to pull away. Then suddenly I find my body, and before I realise what I'm doing I have reached out and tugged Malfoy's face towards mine, pressing my lips to his.


	15. Traitor

From the first touch of our lips, Malfoy seems paralyzed. I ignore it and continue to ravage his mouth, just waiting for him to push me away. Because we both know that is what will happen.

But instead I feel a cool hand uncertainly seek its path up my neck, behind my ear and wove itself into my hair. I gasp and pull myself higher from my uncomfortable position on my elbows until I am sitting upright. Malfoy kisses me back tentatively, his tongue cautiously seeking out to meet mine. He moves from crouching above my feet to sitting down on his knees, practically in my lap. I feel as though I'm in a dream, and hurriedly wrap my arms around Malfoy's neck, frantically trying to prevent him from vanishing.

He doesn't. Instead he reaches out his other arm to wrap it around my waist, his hand seeking its way under my shirt, bringing our bodies together. Malfoy's hand is cool against my flushed skin, and I shudder at the mixture of sensation it brings. I thrive in the knowledge that this is happening, without the impact of Malfoy's vampiric needs. This is just me and him, me and him...

"...Draco."

It's a mere whisper, barely audible. But Malfoy hears it and freezes. He breaks the kiss and pulls away slowly, eyes never leaving mine. "I- I can't... we can't-" he whispers, almost sobs. His face looks calm, except for the small frown around his mouth. Malfoy sighs heavily as he stands up.

"I'm sorry." he murmurs, face to the floor, disappearing soundlessly from the room. The only thing I hear as I am left alone on the floor is the door clicking shut behind him.

I can only wonder about who it was that decided for my life to be this fucking unbearable.

**­­­­­­­­­­­­­___________________________________________________________________**

The following week goes by filled with an unbearable amount of noise and life.

Ron and Hermione won't leave me alone for a second, after all the three of us have been apart for over three months. And after Lupin and Mr and Mrs Weasley left, Ron doesn't bother to keep his unnaturally loud voice down anymore. The only thing silent is Malfoy.

Him I've seen only two times in the past week, once in the entrance hall and the other time when he came to ask if Hermione would be so kind to let him feed off her. I felt as if I was suffocating, watching the two of them leave the room, Hermione looking much too happy. She came back fifteen minutes later, her giddy and flushed expression causing Ron to throw another fit. I didn't care any longer, the only thought in my mind was that he asked for her.

_Not for me._

**­­­­­­­­­­­­­___________________________________________________________________**

I walk past Potter into the drawing room, where Shacklebolt and Dumbledore are already waiting. The raven haired boy doesn't even look at me. He only stares at the floor silently, looking much like someone just died. I force myself to ignore him and greet the Headmaster and the Auror instead.

"Draco!" Dumbledore exclaims merrily, while Shacklebolt only nods quietly. "Are you ready?"

_Ready? No. Never for this._ "Yes, sir."

"Good," he smiles, eyes twinkling behind half-moon spectacles as he looks over to Shacklebolt. "Kingsley here will be under a basic Disillusionment charm. We thought nothing more advanced would be required since Mrs Malfoy is hardly expecting you to bring anyone. And," he adds, suddenly more grave. "I just connected Grimmauld Place to the Floo network. It will close at 6pm, for security reasons, so you will have to be back by then. That gives you approximately three hours."

I nod slowly. "That's fine. I erased the security this morning, so we should be able to Floo there as soon as Mr Shacklebolt is ready."

The Auror hurries to do the charm on himself, and we all watch him disappear before our eyes. I take my wand out of my pocket. The wood feels alien and hard in my hand, unfamiliar after so long without using it. I watch as an invisible Shacklebolt makes the urn with Floo powder levitate from its place upon the fire place towards me. I take a hand full of the powder and step into the fire place. Taking one last glance at the people in the room, I throw the powder into the flames. "Malfoy Mansion, Draco Malfoy's quarters!"

The last thing I see as I am swirled away into the flames are green eyes staring back at me.

**­­­­­­­­­­­­­___________________________________________________________________**

I step out into a familiar bedroom, decorated in silver and green. I snort. How different my life was, how different _I _was the last time I was here.

A whooshing sound is head from behind me, green flames flicker and an invisible person covered with soot steps out into my room. Shacklebolt spells himself clean and is totally invisible once more. I follow his example before I take a deep breath and walk with steady steps towards the door to the hall. Shacklebolt is a good Auror, I can barely hear his steps behind me.

I clench my hand around my wand as I walk through the corridor and down the stairs into the main hall. I don't have to wonder where Mother is, at three o'clock she would rather die than not be enjoying her afternoon tea. I head downstairs for the main drawing room, making sure my steps are totally soundless. The door is half closed, and I push it open, walking inside to meet my mother's horrified stare. She drops the cup she was holding, tea scattering over the persian carpet.

"Draco?" she asks, voice shrill and frightened.

I nod curtly. "Mother."

Narcissa rises from her chair slowly, and walks with staggering steps over to me. "Where have you been?" she asks, reaching out a hand to caress my cheek. "The school told me you had run away..."

I smile softly. "It's a long story. Shall we?" I gesture towards the sofa. Mother nods quickly and pulls me down next to her. I hear Shacklebolt enter the room and stand inside the door, not far from us. I look around at the familiar room. Though I feel like I've been away for years, everything is exactly the way I remember it. The purple walls and the massive chandeliers, reflected in the magnificent mirrors on the East wall.

"Tea?" Mother asks, already pouring me a cup. I nod though the mere idea of the liquid makes my stomach turn, and accept the cup with a smile. Pretending to take a sip, I then put the cup down on the coffee table.

"So, where have you been?" Mother asks again. "I had people searching for you everywhere, and no one could find a clue to where you had gone."

I smile at the confused woman, as I would to calm a crying child. If against all odds I ever were to care for a crying child, that is. "I acquired some problems with some of the other students at school, so I left to join our Lord a little earlier than previously planned."

My words have very little effect on my mother. "Really?" she asks, voice now calmer. "Your Father hasn't mentioned anything about that."

I am a little surprised, I had not expected to get Mother to speak of Father so fast. He would be so pissed to know she isn't being more careful, even with me. "You are in contact with Father, then?" I ask, bypassing Mother's disguised question.

The woman smiles softly, as happy a smile as a Malfoy is allowed. "Yes. Not often, as you realise it is not safe. But he Floos in once in a while to tell me if there is something he needs done, and I do it for him. Otherwise I can't be of much use to him." she sighs softly, and I wonder how much Mother truly adores her husband. I used to believe she was only afraid of him, but it seems I was mistaken. The realisation makes my task even harder, though I know what must be done.

"Is he with the Dark Lord?" I ask coolly, taking another pretend-sip of my tea. My mother furrows her brow at me, looking slightly worried. "Have you not seen him? I do not know his whereabouts, it is not safe to share such things, even with me..." her voice fades away into a whisper, her hands shaking softly.

I realise any information Mother may have about Father, she will not give me voluntarily. I look at the proud woman before me, and sigh, knowing that the time to pretend is over. Putting down my tea cup once again, I straighten my posture and take a deep breath.

"Was it you who used _Piaculum Venia_ on the other prisoners in Azkaban?"

My question seems to shake Mother more than I had expected. She stares at me in wonderment for a moment before nodding slowly. "Yes. Yes, it was me. Why do you ask?"

I ignore her question coldly. "Did Father tell you to do it?"

Mother stares at me for another minute, confusion and sadness marring her features. "He asked me to, once when I visited him." she says quietly, furrowing her brow. "Why do you want to know that?"

I stand, finally ending this useless pretence. Drawing my wand, I watch horror flick over Mother's face. "Draco?" she whispers, disbelief lacing her voice.

"I need you to tell me where any letters you have gotten from Father are." I command, voice cold and harsh, leaving no room for objections.

"In the top drawer of your father's desk." Mother answers automatically, as if forced to by an un-cast spell. In spite of her fright and confusion. "But Draco, why does the Dark Lord need-"

_Stupid woman._

"The Dark Lord probably doesn't need those letters, but I do." I cut her off, deepening the crevice between her eyes. "And he won't be happy if he ever finds out I was here." I add as an afterthought. Still pointing my wand at Mother, I walk towards the fire place. "If you would be so kind, Mother, I would like you to come here." I command, and suddenly find the fire lit. Shacklebolt is an efficient colleague, I find.

Mother stumbles towards me, as if compelled to obey in spite of everything. "What is this, Draco? What are you doing?"

I silence her with a raised hand, and turn towards the doors instead, waving my wand. "_Accio _Father's Letters," I murmur, imagining the letters in my Father's desk. A moment later a thin pile of paper floats through the door and into my hands. "Shacklebolt," I command, looking to where I hear his breathing. "Can you Apparate to outside the head quarters with my mother? I will go by Floo and tell Dumbledore to meet you so he can let her inside the house."

"Yes." Shacklebolts low voice murmurs. Mother gives out a high pitched shriek and stares at the empty room in horror. "Draco, who else is here?" I look down my nose at the woman I once feared almost as much as Father. "That is none of your concern right now, Mother. Now behave, don't try anything stupid, and everything will be all right." With those words I nod towards Shacklebolt, produce a handful of Floo powder from an urn, and step into the flames.

**­­­­­­­­­­­­­___________________________________________________________________**

I step out of the fire place and am immediately greeted by Dumbledore, Potter, Granger and the Weasel. "Well?" the Headmaster asks.

"Shacklebolt is bringing her here. You have to go outside, sir, to let them in. I can't because of the Fidelius." I speak fast, before hurrying out to the main door.

"Narcissa Malfoy is coming _here_?!" I hear the Weasel shriek, but I manage to ignore the oblivious fool. Dumbledore says nothing, but goes outside. I look out just in time to see Mother appear out of thin air, holding on to the no longer invisible Shacklebolt. She looks without fear into Dumbledore's face as he speaks to her, before handing her a note. Mother's eyes flicker over the paper, and within seconds it bursts into flames. I see Mother's eyes focus on the house, and on me, standing in the doorway.

"Draco!" she gasps, obediently following Dumbledore and Shacklebolt into the house. Her face holds nothing of the fear I saw in the Mansion. Of course, no true Malfoy would let it be shown in front of strangers. I lead her into the drawing room, where I order her to sit. She does so, facing me where I sit in another chair.

"Draco, what is this?" she demands, fighting to keep her calm and watching as Dumbledore and Shacklebolt enter the room. The Golden Trio try to enter the room, but the Headmaster shuts the door in front of them. He then takes a comfortable seat in a chair and keeps smiling, while Shacklebolt goes to stand by the wall.

"Mother, I need you to tell me everything you know about Father's whereabouts." I command, bringing both fear and anger to her face. The emotions vanish in a second though, for Mother has realised she is not amongst friends anymore. A calm and collected witch sits before me. "I have no idea what you are talking about, Draco. I have not spoken to your father since I last visited him in Azkaban." Her voice is cool and steady. Were I not knowing she was lying, I would have no reason to doubt her words.

"Don't play games with me, Narcissa." I order in that cold impersonal voice I know will work against my mother. And yes, she shudders under my gaze and seems to shrink in size. "You told me before you were in contact with him. Shacklebolt-" I gesture towards the man by the wall, "was there all the while. We _know_. Now I just need you to confess what you wouldn't tell me earlier."

The silence drags out, as Mother fights to collect herself and gather her previous strength. Mother is a good actor and looks completely calm, but I can hear her blood pulsing furiously through her veins. "I know nothing. There is nothing I can add to what I told you before." Proudly Mother looks around her at the people witnessing the scene. "I cannot believe you would to this to me, Draco." she states coldly, sky blue eyes meeting mine steadily. "That you would betray your own mother, your _family_, for these blood-traitors and Mudbloods!" She looks much like she would like to continue, but I break her off with a humourless snort.

"Well Mother, the disappointment is equal." I tap my fingers nonchalantly against each other. "I, for one cannot believe that you would lower yourself to being a meaningless pawn in the Dark Lord's games, just because Father told you to." I stand and walk slowly towards my Mother, who now looks ever angrier. "You could have walked free. You had not yet done anything irreparable. But this stunt you pulled in Azkaban..." I leave the threat unsaid. I can smell the fear on Mother now, though her face remains unmoved.

I sneer, a wicked smile marring my features as I approach my mother. "Was it worth it?" I drawl hollowly, seeing the fear in her eyes as my features twist into the cold facade I've learned so well from Father. "Was _he_ worth it, Mother? Was he worth giving up your freedom? Worth risking your life for a useless cause? Worth giving up your son to a madman?" For each word I say my voice becomes more like a growl, and the last comes out is but a snarl. "Was he worth _killing_ your only son for?!"

Mother stares at me with confusion and fright, but with no less anger and pride than before. She stands up from her seat, facing me bravely. I almost feel the urge to applaud her braveness, stupid as it may be.

"What are you talking about, Draco?" she asks noncomically, raising a pale eyebrow. "The decision for you to join our Lord was not mine, but your father's. And you did not _die_, or whatever you are trying to imply. Nor would you have had to, if you had not made the wrong choice." Narcissa narrows her eyes as she leaves the threat hanging in the air. She looks defiantly around the room, giving both Dumbledore and Potter an especially disdainful glare.

I stare at her in silence for a minute. Though I try to muster up all the anger I have felt inside me for so long, now all I can grasp is numbness. I feel sorry for this woman, who understands so little, and cares for even less. And now it is too late for her.

"You could have opposed to his decision." I whisper, turning Mother's face back towards me. "You could have stepped up, for once in your life. But you didn't, did you?!" My voice heightens to a roar, and suddenly all that lost rage has erupted. I clench my hands into fists, feeling my nails eat their way into my skin. "You sent your only son to die, Mother. I was going to off myself before the night of my initiation, so that _bastard _could never lay a hand on me." I hiss the last words, the suppressed rage causing my body to tremble violently. But I smile viciously as I continue, staring into my mother's shocked face.

"But you see, Narcissa. Fate got in the way." And I chuckle mirthlessly at the horror on my mother's face as I bare my fangs at her. She stumbles backwards, falling back down on the sofa. "You- you're-..." she only manages to mumble, her breath quickening in panic, her pulse throbbing in my ears.

"Yes." I grin venomously, reaching out for the table and picking up a silver fork. "I am. And guess what?" Smirking at Mother, I swirl the fork in my hand. "_I cannot die_. So now..." I close my hand around the cutlery and clench my fingers around the metal. "I'm going to eliminate every reason why I should." And I open my hand to reveal nothing but sparkling dust, slipping through my fingers.

I turn back to my mother, who is staring from me to the dust on the floor and back again. Suddenly she looks so much older. She shudders as she stares up at me, as if she didn't know me anymore. "You are just like your Father." she whispers, and I feel my breath get caught in my throat. When I finally manage to breathe freely again, I turn around and walk back to my seat. "You will tell us everything you know. If you refuse, I _will_ make you."

Sitting down, I sneer at the woman I once called Mother.


	16. What are Little Boys Made of?

The interrogation draws on forever. I don't know if I'm more afraid of it to never end, or more terrified that it will.

Mother can't tell us much that I didn't know to begin with. Mostly she just rambles on about family values, looking at me with distaste. Reminding me that my treachery has forever separated me from my past life.

_If it only were that easy. _

She carries on in a monotone voice about family before all else, crime and punishment, and the shame and disgrace of bloodtraitors. As if Dumbledore and Shacklebolt were here to listen to that. As if they could ever understand it.

In my mind Mother's quiet words replay a series of those same lessons, those same rules. Those rules that were repeated again and again, followed by slaps or curses to punctuate the importance. Those rules now since long embedded in the core of my being, my very soul.

It's a good thing I no longer have one.

In my hand I hold the letters Mother received from Father. There are only four of them, in each Father's alias is a carpenter named Elias Floamy. But these letters contain no information, hidden or otherwise. Mr Floamy claims to be in excellent health, but beside that, no additional information is given. The last letter is dated on March 23d.

While Dumbledore and Kinglsey interrogate Mother, I silently try to make the letters reveal their hidden message. But nothing comes forth, no matter how many times I repeat old family mottos. I don't understand this.

Finally, I realise the room has gone quiet, and awake from my ponderings. I stand up just in time to watch Shacklebold spell a pair of handcuffs on to Mother. She clenches her jaw before she looks at me one last time, her cold face betraying no signs of fear for her fate. Then she turns away and follows Shacklebolt out through the door, disappearing from my life forever. I will never I forget that last accusing look she gave me. Still, somehow I feel proud over her perpetual pride, her ability to hold her armour into the very end. Mother is indeed a true Malfoy.

"I'm sorry, Draco." Dumbledore says, placing what he thinks is a comforting hand on my shoulder. I stand silent for a minute, fighting the urge to shrug the hand off me and scream at the Headmaster. He is not sorry at all. Yes, sorry that I suffer, but not sorry for Mother. It's all for the cause, he says. I finally find my feet again, and without a word to the Headmaster, I leave the room.

_I just sent my own mother to Azkaban._

I step out into the dark corridor, and only now do I realise how late it is. The Golden Trio has long ago grown tired of waiting and left for their rooms. For some reason that thought makes me feel even worse.

_My life will always be like this_, I realise as I walk slowly up the stairs to the West Wing. Maybe I won't have to send everyone I know to Azkaban, but eventually I will have to say goodbye to them. Eventually they will all wither away and die, while I remain here. Unchanged. Unmoved. No matter what the outcome of this war is, no matter what we will have to sacrifice, I will be here to witness it.

Alone.

I stop cold in my steps outside my door. I stare in wonderment at the sleeping form leaning against the wall. This boy, lying here like a marionette with cut strings. This boy still so full with life.

_Oh god, please don't let me have to watch him die. _

I am just about to consider sneaking into my room without waking Potter, when the raven haired boy opens his eyes sleepily. He blinks a few times, then startles as his eyes focus and he realises I'm staring down at him.

"M-Malfoy!" Potter mumbles, standing up quickly. He looks at me warily, not certain of what to say. "I- How are you?" He looks at me with such sincerity, such suffocating empathy that I am disgusted.

_I can't breathe._

"I don't want to talk about it," I growl, perhaps harsher than is necessary. I push past him, but he grabs my arm before I make it through the door.

"Malfoy, I-" Potter begins, eloquent as always. I stare at him numbly, forcing myself to form the words. "Just _go_, Potter." And I slam the door shut after me. I can't do this. I can't want him. Unfortunately, it's getting ever harder to deny the fact that I _do_. Want. Him.

I can't be alone. But I can't _not_ be alone. If I let him into my life now, how will I cope when he leaves? Because we both know that eventually, he will.

Standing still in the middle of the floor, I keep wondering what to do with myself.

_I need a shower._

Before I know how I got there, I am standing in the shower, clothes and all, the water scaling my skin.

God knows how long I've stood here. Time and space have long since disappeared. My robes are soaked through, as are my pants. Their weight keeps dragging me to the floor, yet it is nothing compared to the weight I feel on my shoulders. Nothing compared to the sinking feeling in my stomach. I stand completely still, staring straight ahead. And I wonder if I could stay forever like this, under the running water, in this mindless state. I feel myself falling, falling, and I wait with tremor for the moment when I hit bottom.

Then suddenly the bathroom door opens, and Potter steps inside. He stares at me quietly for a moment before he turns to close the door behind him. I open my mouth to tell him to leave, but no sound comes out. I close it again. Potter crosses the bathroom swiftly, kicking off his shoes and tossing his glasses into the sink as he does. He stops just out of range of the spraying water, just looking. I stare at him blankly, a thousand and none thoughts running through my head. I swallow and try again to speak.

"I told you to leave." I croak, my voice raw. Potter stares at me for another moment, before suddenly taking a step forward and putting his arms around me. My breath catches in my throat and my body goes rigid.

"You know I can't."

His voice is slow and quiet, just as broken as mine. It's too much. I shudder in his arms, fighting to get away. And though I am so much stronger, I can't fight him off. I fight and scream and growl, and still I can't get away. Potter only tightens his hold on me.

I can't. We can't- This can't- I...

_I can't be alone._

The tears start rolling. I make a last attempt to push Potter away, but somehow I end up pulling him closer instead. I bury my head into the crook of his neck, and tell myself he won't know I'm crying 'cause his clothes are already soaked. As I relax, I expect Potter to, too. But he only tightens his hold, letting me know he's here. And I know. I cling to him like a drowning man, sobbing silently into his shoulder, my fingers tearing through the fabric of his shirt. And I think that maybe just this once, maybe just for one night, I could let go. Maybe just for one night, I could forget.

I pull away slightly, raising my head and staring at the boy in font of me. Potter looks back at me through soaked strands of hair, his hue pale and his eyes glistening behind wet eyelashes. His nose is wet and flushed, and a small drop of water has gathered on his upper lip. I reach up slowly and wipe it away with my thumb, the palm of my hand gracing Potter's cheek. A pink tongue darts out to flicker over his lips, and finally my resolve vanishes.

I lean towards Potter slowly, giving him a generous amount of time to rethink the situation and get the hell out of here. But he doesn't move, and barely allows himself to take a quick intake of breath before I press my lips to his. He relaxes immediately in my arms, sliding his hands up my arms to my shoulders. The kiss is slow and sweet and tentative, such a kiss that you read about in romantic 19th century novels.

I keep still as Potter's hands run over my body; in my hair, over my face, down my neck. But when he gets to my chest, he freezes. He pulls away from the kiss slowly, leaving me to stare at him in agony. I knew this was too good to be true.

But to my surprise, Potter makes no attempt to leave. He only takes a small step back, a deep furrow between his brow, and keeps staring at my chest.

"Potter, wha-" I begin, but my words are cut off like my thoughts when Potter reaches forward and starts unbuttoning my robes. His fingers work over the buttons efficiently, and soon the black cloth is sliding over my shoulders and onto the floor. Without a word of explanation, Potter then continues with my white collar shirt. Once he is finished, he slides his right hand under my shirt and presses it flat against my chest. I shudder at the contact of skin against skin. Potter stares at his hand in deep concentration for a minute before he looks up to my questioning face.

"...You don't have a heartbeat."

* * *

"....You don't have a heartbeat." I utter, unable to believe the truth in what I am saying. I stare at Malfoy, waiting frantically for him to deny it. He doesn't.

"No. I don't." he answers warily, as if expecting me to run off at any moment.

I keep staring at him in silence. It's not that I didn't know that vampires are as close as you can get to being the living dead. I know that they don't sweat, that they don't bleed. But to think of Malfoy as _dead_... I just can't.

He is standing here in front of me, I can feel his chest rising beneath my hand as he breathes, he is_ touching _me... How can he not be alive? How can I have lost him before I even had him?

In a crazy fit of denial I throw my hands around the blonde boy and kiss him for all I'm worth. I press myself against him, clawing at his shirt to get it off him. As he tentatively starts to lift the hem of my sweater, his hands sliding against my back, I feel enormous relief. As long as he keeps moving, as long as _we_ keep moving, he can't be anything _but _alive. No matter what anyone else says. No matter the condition of his heartbeat.

His soaked collar shirt clings to his body as I fervently fight to tug it down his arms. Finally Malfoy lets go of me to do it himself, sloppily throwing his shirt into the corner of the shower. I can't slow down enough to stop kissing him and actually look at him, I just run my hands all over his naked chest and back. Memorizing the skin beneath my fingers.

Malfoy starts tugging my sweater off me, only breaking the kiss to pull the cloth over my head. My T-shirt goes next. Once I am free from it I hurriedly throw my arms around Malfoy's neck, ravaging his mouth. He returns the kiss with such furiousness that his strength makes me take a few steps back out through the shower. I shudder at the cold air away from the hot water, and Malfoy breaks the kiss to look at me with concern. I ignore his expression and lean past him to shut off the shower. As I turn back, my eyes flicker over the bathroom door. I look back at Malfoy, seeing the usual doubt and resistance ever growing in his eyes. I reach out and wove a hand into his hair, pulling his face to me for a deep kiss.

"Don't think," I whisper against his lips, and start pulling him towards the door, my lips never leaving his. Malfoy follows slowly but obediently, and we enter his bedroom, leaving puddles of water on our trail. Crossing the floor our kisses grow ever more frantic, more desperate. Only when I haul Malfoy down on top of me on the bed does he stop and pull away. He looks down at me, water dripping from his hair onto my skin. He breathes heavily, staring at me for a long moment.

"...This is lunacy," he finally murmurs, but makes no attempt to move away. I smile at him and his morals, still trying to convince himself that this is wrong. Even when it's so clear that we both want it.

"I don't care," I answer him, pulling him down to me for a heated kiss. He doesn't resist anymore. Malfoy runs his hands down my chest, his nails scraping my skin slightly. I shiver at the surprising thrill the added sensation brings. He reaches my jeans, hooking his fingers on the hem of them. I let out a gasp of apprehension, and Malfoy chuckles against my lips. I suddenly wonder how many times he's done this.

The thought is gone with the wind as soon as Malfoy breaks the kiss again to start unbuckling my belt. He tugs the over-sized jeans down my legs without even having to unbutton them. To my surprise though Malfoy leans back to continue kissing me, making no attempt to remove my boxer shorts. Slightly irritated I manoeuvre myself so I can reach the top of his trousers, unbuttoning and unzipping them rapidly. Malfoy breaks the kiss with a gasp and stares down at me.

"Potter, are you- ...What-" he rambles, obviously uncertain of how to present his question. I take a deep breath and meet his gaze with seriousness.

"I want this," I begin, before raising my hips against Malfoy's, causing him gasp loudly. "And I can _feel _that you want it, too." I smirk as Malfoy fails to deny what we both know is true. Before his paralyzing astoundness of my bluntness takes off, I hurry to pull his trousers down to his knees. Surprisingly enough he gives, and proceeds to kick them off all the way. Hands on my hips again, he tugs at the hem of my boxers and gives me a questioning look. I take a nervous breath but smile encouragingly.

Malfoy pulls my boxers down my legs slowly, before moving to remove his own, leaving us both as naked as the day we were born. He then lies down completely on top of me, kissing me firmly but sweetly. The air is cool against my skin, but that is not the cause of my shuddering. I run my trembling hands all over Malfoy's body, over his strong back, his arse, and his long legs. Everywhere I can possibly reach, feeling for every second more grateful that I am alive to feel this.

But I need more. More than touching Malfoy and kissing him and feeling his body against mine. Just... More.

Breaking the kiss, I meet Malfoy's questioning gaze. It takes a minute for me to be able to collect the words. "Please... I want- I _need_ you." I plead, hoping that he will understand without me having to say it out loud. Malfoy's eyes widen, and stops breathing for a minute. Then he slowly manoeuvres his legs between mine, looking back at me without looking convinced that I am serious. To clarify my desire I swiftly wrap my legs around him, my heels digging into his back and jerking him towards me roughly. He gasps loudly at the sudden contact, my own voice echoing his.

I almost chuckle with relief when Malfoy then finally moves to kneel beneath my thighs. I shudder as I hear a whispered lubrication charm, and feel a cool finger seek its way beneath my legs and circle around my entrance. Malfoy looks at me for assurance, and I nod breathily, not trusting my voice to speak. He smiles as his finger then slowly enters me, and I can only lie here trembling as my body gets used to the alien sensation.

Before I know it, a second, then a third finger is added, and I am shuddering with pleasure and apprehension. I don't know how much more I can take before-

"...Draco, please-" I croak, and his eyes flicker to me immediately at the mention of his first name. He stretches me a little more, and smiles as I gasp and throw my head back. "Oh fuck! ...Now!" I gasp. A disappointed moan escapes my lips when he withdraws his fingers, but I draw a deep breath as I feel something else breach me. I clench my eyes shut but can't fight the pained groan that escapes me as I feel flesh slowly give in. But the sound of Malfoy's breathy groan reaches my ears, and I smile into the darkness. When Malfoy is fully sheathed I feel his cool lips against mine, and I open my eyes. He smiles at me softly, before starting to move slowly. In spite of the burn a flaming pleasure start building up, and soon I am moaning ceaselessly.

Malfoy seems encouraged by my moans and speeds up. Then he changes the angle slightly and were he not lying on top of me I'm sure I would have jumped through the roof. Hundreds of electric pulses run through my body and I can but groan. "Oh god... fuck...!"

I meet Malfoy's gaze as he keeps moving in me. His steel gray eyes are blazing intently, staring hungrily down at me. He looks so calm, so content, so completely focused on me and me alone that I feel like my heart is going to burst. I feel the emotions gathering in me with every stroke, reaching higher and higher and higher until I feel as if I'm on the edge of the earth. Then I see Malfoy's lips moving softly, and his dark voice pierces the room.

"...Harry!" he pants.

The sound of my name on his lips echoes in my head as I come, shouting out and my body bucking beneath his. I tremble violently as I feel him drive into me hard one last time. A breathy growl escapes him as I feel him fill me, before his arms give way and he falls down upon me. Wrapping my limbs around him I let the aftershocks run through me. I breath in the musky scent of his skin. My head is spinning and in this breathtaking, ecstatic moment I feel as though the world is turning in these sheets. A content sleepiness begins to take over me, and I relax down on the bed.

Malfoy too stops trembling eventually. After a long while he slides off me, but only to lie down beside me. He pulls the blanket over our cooling bodies and lays his arm over my chest. He plants sleepy kisses on my collar bone, while his fingers play affectionately with my hair. Exhausted and half asleep, I turn my head to look at him. I watch the clear lines of his face, his taut mouth, the pale eyelashes on his closed eyes. I realise that this moment, all we are in this moment, is all I ever want to be. I tighten my arms around him, and from my lips he draws the words.

"I love you."


	17. A Higher Wall

I wake up to the tickling of breath against my nose. Then I realise I _shouldn't _be waking up. I open my eyes to find emerald eyes staring back at me.

"Good morning." Potter smiles at me, a slight blush creeping over his nose. My eyes widen in remembrance.

_"I love you."_

Last night when I heard the words I was too far gone to even react. Now I don't know what to do with them. I can't reciprocate to his words. But how am I to inform him that Malfoys do not, _can _not love? And yet, his words create a warm and disturbingly fuzzy feeling that I cannot distinguish. I force myself not to show all those feelings on my face. "How long have you been awake?"

"A while." he answers. "I liked watching you sleep," he admits with extraordinary honesty, his blush deepening slightly. I ignore the ridiculous fluttering in my stomach and sit up slowly. "I can't believe I fell asleep..." I mumble, mostly to myself, running a hand through my hair. I look back at Potter, who is looking down at the bed, a frown around his mouth. I follow his gaze to the indigo sheets. Our bodies aren't touching, and I realise the distance has created a void between the two of us. Between today and what happened last night. Of course, it is for the best. At least that is what I am telling myself.

Potter looks up at me with pleading eyes. I can hear his pulse beating in anxiety. He is asking me to deny what we both know is true. And I can't do that.

As silently as I can I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, as if any noise would make this situation too real to bear. I find my still damp trousers and stand up to pull them on, all the while feeling Potter's eyes on me. Making sure to keep my back to him at all times, I walk over to my wardrobe to find myself a shirt. As the oak doors creek open, I hear the rustling of sheets and Potter's light steps on the floor. I hear him picking up his jeans and fastening his belt, and I sigh in relief for the fact that he is not trying to make this any harder than it has to be.

Then I feel arms wrap around me from behind and a muscular chest pressed against my back. "I won't let you do this." Potter's warm breath puffs against my shoulder. His heart beats fast against my back, his pulse echoing in my ear.

"Let go of me. Please." I murmur, my voice not quite as steady as I would like for it to be. When he doesn't obey, I grab his wrists and remove his hands from my body. But when I turn around to repell him from me once and for all, I suddenly find myself with an armful of Potter. "I won't let you." he repeats, his voice breaking slightly.

"Potter, please..." I grab his shoulders to push him away from me. He keeps his hands around my neck, but pulls away enough to look at me. He looks at me with a desperation I've never seen in those eyes, and I forget what I was about to say. When I finally remember, he rudely cuts me off.

"I know what you're trying to do. You're trying to convince yourself that last night meant nothing to you. And maybe you have succeeded in fooling yourself," A sad smile appears on Potter's face. "But you can't fool me."

All my objections are cut off as he then throws himself around my neck, pressing his lips to mine. I slam the breaks but the wheels roll on. In spite of the objections my mind is repeating, my body seems determined to ignore them. My arms sneak around his waist, and I hug him closer to me. Too close to me. Not close enough.

When I finally gather the presence of mind to pull away, Potter lets me go with a huge grin plastered on his face. "I knew it."

As any denial would surely be unsuccessful, I try to convince him using the simple laws of reason. "Potter, don't you see?" I ask, turning around and reaching for a clean collar shirt from the closet. "We can't do this. I am sorry to have indulged this, but it must end now. We can't-"

"Oh, shut up." Potter snorts, tugging the shirt over my shoulders and beginning to button it. I marvel at the fact that somehow Potter dressing me is almost more arousing than him taking my clothes off. A small smirk ghosts on his lips and his voice is low and husky. "I know you have all these principles and morals. But quite frankly," he smiles, straightening my collar, so close that his breath ghosts over my lips. "I don't give a tiny rat's arse."

My words stuck in my throat at this appalling rudeness and... other sensations. I lick my lips and take in a desperate breath of air. "This is not just about _my_ principles, Potter. The whole wizarding world-"

"It's _Harry_." Potter insist, pouting childishly. "And I don't _care_ about what the wizarding world thinks." he exclaims. "I care about what _you_ think."

I am taken aback by the unbashful honesty this boy manages. How is one to respond to such insolence?

"If you say that _you_ don't want this, then I'll accept that." Potter continues, still clinging onto my shirt. "But if you say that this is wrong because of what _other _people might think..." he trails off, leaving the unspoken accusation in the air. I shake my head softly. To him it might sound silly to care so much about other people's opinions. But I doubt he would deny that he cares about what his friends think.

"On the contrary, Potter, other people's opinion _does_ matter. Or do you deny that you would not be too eager to inform your little friends about last night?" I hiss, with more venom than necessary. But it helps. I see the self-consciousness on Potter's features. He too knows I'm right.

"It's still Harry," he continues insisting, and a soft smile spreads on his face. "But you're right, I doubt the information would agree with Ron and Hermione. But since we already crossed the line once..." He throws his arms around my neck again, and I just can't find the energy or the willpower to throw him off. "-why would we have to tell anyone about another time?"

I stand paralyzed for a moment, considering Potter's words. The whole situation is ridiculous, I should just walk straight out of here and never think about this again-

And then Potter presses his lips to mine, "I love you, Draco." whispered between us. And I give in. Pushing him back towards the bedpost and proceeding to kiss my name from his lips fervently. In this moment I am gloriously happy and utterly disgusted with myself at the same time. I curse myself for becoming so weak. For as the Malfoy I am I know that what goes up will surely fall in disgrace. And now I can only count down the time.

* * *

For the second time this morning, I throw the blanket off me. Potter remains in bed, curled up in a fetal position and sleeping soundly. I pull on a clean pair of trousers and a collar shirt before I sit down on the edge of the bed again.

I have lost. One time is no time, but two times... That is no longer something I can deny. And honestly, I don't know if I want to.

I lean towards the sleeping boy on the bed. His eyelids flutter in his sleep, the side of his mouth twitching into a smile. He looks oddly different without his glasses. As if someone took away the shield guarding him. I smile down at Potter's sleeping form. _As long as no one finds out, everything will be all right._

"Harry." I state, shaking his shoulder softly. "You have to get up."

"Mm... come back to bed..." a very sleepy Potter mumbles, tugging at my sleeve. "Just five more minutes..."

"Potter!" I growl, though with only mild irritation and more humour. "If you don't get up now, people will notice you're not in your room and come looking for you. They can't find you here." I shake him harder. Potter finally opens his eyes and looks up at me.

"You called me Harry before."

I sigh, but can't stop the small smile spreading on my face. "_Harry_." I emphasize. "Please get up." Potter's face lights up and he sits up immediately. He gives me a quick peck on the cheek, rumbling off the bed in a hurry, a blush spreading on his face. I snort at his antics and curse the ridiculous fluttering in my stomach, scooting off the bed and walking to the door. "I think I'll spend the day in the library." I state clearly, exiting the room swiftly, leaving the silent invitation hanging in the air.

I hear Potter's clear laugh cling behind me all the way downstairs.

* * *

I chuckle as I watch Draco leave the room, casting tempus to see how much time I've got. Turns out it's almost twelve, someone is bound to come looking for me soon. Still, I take my time looking around Draco's room as I get dressed. I'm still having a hard time believing the events of the last twelve hours. It's not that it shocks me, though maybe it should. Never mind the fact that Draco's a _boy_, but he's _Malfoy_. My arch nemesis for six years. And it's not as if my opinion about him didn't change months ago, but... I just didn't expect for it to change this drastically.

But what truly frightens me is not the things I will have to hide from Ron and Hermione. What scares me is Draco. It seems that the whole 'gay'-thing is a much bigger issue for him than it is for me. If this mornings reaction is anything to go by, the next days are not going to be easy.

I exit the West Wing and enter the kitchen, Draco still on my mind. Hermione and Ron are sitting at the kitchen table, eating sausages and fried eggs. Ron looks up as I enter.

"Harry! You're up! We knocked on your door but you didn't answer." he rambles, mouth stuffed with sausages.

Hermione looks concerned. "You weren't up too late worrying about Malfoy and his mom, were you?"

Ron snorts loudly, gulping down a couple of fork-fulls of eggs. "Who in their right mind would lose sleep worrying about the Ferret?"

I ignore Ron's comment and walk to the counter to pour myself a cup of coffee. "No, I just didn't sleep too well, that's all." The answer seems to suffice, and Ron continues eating while Hermione changes the subject.

"So, speaking of Malfoy, have you any idea how the meeting went?" she asks as I take a seat at the table. "I ran into him a few minutes ago, he didn't seem too bad off."

"I don't think they discovered anything of big importance. At least not anything about Voldemort's whereabouts." I mumble absentmindedly, looking into my coffee cup. Of course I cannot be absolutely sure about the truth in my answer, as Draco and me had... other things on out mind after the meeting. "But I do believe Narcissa was sent to Azkaban."

Hermione shivers while Ron only sniggers slightly. "Typical Malfoy. Doesn't even mourn the fact that he sent his own mother to prison."

Hermione turns furiously to Ron. "How can you be so ungrateful? Just be glad that he _did_ send her to Azkaban, instead of helping Narcissa aid Lucius." Ron looks both surprised and annoyed at our friend's sudden outburst. He turns to look at me for support. Unfortunately for Ron, I can't give him any.

"Hermione's right, Ron." I mutter seriously. "Besides, it's not like Malfoy was raised to show his emotions in public. And he doesn't exactly like any of us, why would he tell us how he feels?" Not the complete truth, but close enough. I feel unbelievably privileged, having been allowed to see some of those emotions Draco hides so carefully from everyone else.

Hermione looks at me, wondering. I wonder if she suspects something. But then again, how could she?

"I still think it's disgusting," Ron mutters to his plate where he stabs the remaining sausages with his fork. Hermione grins at him, picking up a book on Advanced Charms.

"So do we know anything more about the war?" she asks, eyes flicking over the pages.

"No, nothing new." I mutter, feeling both disappointment and relief fill the room. Of course it would be good to gain new information, but every information we have gotten so far has been bad. All pieces of news are about more people killed by Death Eaters, mysterious explosions both in the wizard and Muggle world, or the number of Aurors killed in raids. One can but wonder how long this hell on earth will last.

"Did Dumbledore say when someone is coming to visit us next time?" Ron asks, breaking the tense silence. I try to remember something, anything about yesterday that doesn't involve Draco, but all I can think of is his face, his body, his voice, his-

"I think he mentioned Lupin and your parents coming over in two days." Hermione's voice cuts off my remembrance, and I can but blush at the thoughts just running through my head.

"Good," Ron grunts, rising up from his chair and stretching his back. "I hope Mum brings some food, the shit that comes out of the dumbwaiter is disgusting."

"Don't be ungrateful, Ron." Hermione scolds, but the words come out more of habit than actual annoyance. She looks up from her book at the both of us. "What are you two going to do today?"

"Absolutely nothing." Ron grins, falling back into his chair lazily. Hermione raises her eyebrow in dislike. "How surprising."

"Actually..." I begin, drawing the attention of the old married couple. "I was planning on spending the day studying in the library." A stunned silence follows.

"Harry!" Hermione then squeals in delight. "I'm so proud of you!" She turns towards Ron. "You could learn from Harry, Ron. See how he's learned responsibility during the last months." Hermione glows with pride over my sudden literary interests. Ron only looks mildly disgusted over the whole matter.

"But Harry..." he whines, looking positively horrified.

"Sorry, Ron." I grin, emptying my cup of coffee in a haste as I rise from my chair. "I'd better get started, as I've slept away most of the morning."

Ron groans loudly, the sound sounding something like "What the hell is the world coming to?" while Hermione only smiles. "That's good, Harry. I'd join you, but I have yet to finish all the books Dumbledore let me bring with me from Hogwarts. Maybe next week."

I smile at her as I exit the room, wishing that her own pile of books never ceases. I almost can't restrain myself from running through the halls to reach the library. But as I cross the corridors, I debate with myself if I even should be going there. Outside the library I stop. What if Draco doesn't want me there? What if I just end up annoying him, and he gets sick of me and-

I take a deep breath before I dare to reach out and open the double doors. The doors open with a creak, and I step inside on shaking legs. The room looks empty, but knowing Draco he is not far away. To my surprise the fire place is lit. Something Draco has never done before. Something I scarcely dared to do when in his presence.

I walk over to one of the brown armchairs, the one where Draco always sits. I take a seat just as a deep voice echoes through the room.

"I didn't expect you so soon." Draco says, standing in the far away corner. Holding a book and smirking, looking exactly like he expected me. I grin at him, rising from the chair. "Don't think I'm stupid," I smile, all too widely. "You can sense every approaching human on a mile's distance."

Draco sneers back at me and puts the book back into the shelf. He walks past me, grinning softly, and takes a seat in his usual chair. He doesn't say a word. And I feel I can't either. I look at Draco, sitting there in the armchair, grinning at me wickedly. He enjoys watching me fidget uncomfortably, he always has. Then he picks up a book and begins reading.

I stand still for another minute before I sit down on the floor in front of the fire place. "Have you found anything use against Voldemort yet?" I ask, watching Draco shudder at the mention of the ominous name.

"Not yet," he murmurs, waiving the book he is holding. "I'm searching through this copy of _Sortilèges avancés_ right now."

Pardon me? "Sortilje avans?" I stare at the blonde boy who suddenly decided to speak martian to me. Draco snorts superiorly at me from his chair, and for a second I am reminded of the few times I've met his father.

"_Sortilèges avancés_," he repeats. "Advanced Charms in French."

"You can speak French?" I feel like an idiot. Of course he can speak French. What _can't_ he do?

"Yes." Draco turns lazily back to his book. "We Malfoy's descend from France. Father insisted I learn the language from an early age. It is important to keep up traditions." he mumbles absentmindedly. Repeating the words as if out of habit, without really paying attention to what he is saying. I am suddenly reminded of what Ron said.

_"He won't change, believe me. A Malfoy doesn't dye its hair." _

I wonder if Ron could be right. With habits and lessons so deeply impregnated into his entire being, how could Draco cut himself away from it just like that? How can I expect that from him?

I hear a rustle beside me and look up to see Draco taking a seat beside me on the floor. He sits down cross-legged and leans back against the other armchair behind us. When he meets my questioning look, he just shrugs. "I was never allowed to sit on the floor as a child. Best to make the most of it now." With those words he turns back to his book.

Staring at him for another minute, I feel a giddy grin spread on my face. I pick up a different, non-French book on spells from the floor and lean back against the chair. Our shoulders are touching, such simple human contact I know Draco resents. But he doesn't pull away. I open my book and sigh happily, feeling the distance between us grow smaller with each passing second.


	18. All We Are

Two and a half hours later Draco hasn't lifted his gaze from his book once. And I am bored out of my mind.

"Can't we take a break soon?" I whine, throwing my own book over my shoulder. As if I were reading it anyway.

"Be my guest." Draco mutters, eyes still nailed to the pages. I sigh exaggeratedly and stare at him. "Can't you take a break, too? We could play a game of chess, or something."

Finally the blonde lifts his gaze, but only to raise an amused eyebrow at me. "You _do _know I would beat you in a second, right? Besides, I have all the time in the world to take breaks later. About five centuries of time, at least." he adds morbidly.

I shudder. I hate it when he talks about his condition. Most times I can forget about his eternal sentence. And most times, he forgets about mine.

"But I don't. Have all that time, I mean." I mumble, turning my gaze to the floor. An awkward silence spreads between us as we both try to sympathize with the other. But I can't begin to understand how it might feel to know you will live forever. And how could he know how it feels to have everyone in the world, yourself included, expecting you to die in the next year or so? How it feels to have everyone marvelling at the fact that you've even survived this far?

"I knew this could never work." The cold voice cuts through the silence like a blade of ice through my chest. I lift my face to stare at Draco. "What?" is all I can muster strength to say. He sighs and looks at me with a sad frown, but his voice keeps its coldness.

"This is too hard," he murmurs, averting his eyes from mine and putting down his book beside him. "It's not just about the fact that we're both guys and have hated each others guts for the past six years. And not just about the fact that everyone would go ballistic if it ever came in to common knowledge. All that's hard enough. Including the fact that we are from totally different social statuses and have grown up learning completely different values in life." Draco sighs, and turns to look at me with the most despaired expression I have ever seen on his face. "But when we add the fact that you are who you are and I am what I am... This is just too hard."

I stare at Draco for a long while, going over his words in my head. I sit up on my knees, facing him so that he can't look away from me. "So you think it would be different if I weren't Harry Fucking Potter?" I sneer, bringing a small smile to Draco's face with the reminder of his favourite nickname for me.

"Yes," he admits, smiling at me softly. "But that doesn't even begin to cover it." Another deep sigh escapes his lips, and I wonder silently if he's despaired over the situation or just annoyed with me. "But Harry, we would have a hard time with our... situation any way, even if you weren't the Boy Who Lived. I mean, think about it." Draco exclaims, furrowing his brow at me.

"I am what I am now, and I can't change that. I am not a wizard, not even considered human anymore! And you being who you are... If it ever got out that there was something between us... Have you any idea what that would do for our cause?"

I gaze at Draco quizzically. "I know people would be shocked and all, but they would get over it. It's not like everyone would go scurrying off to the Dark Side just because I'm _gay_." I don't know if it was the mentioning of Voldemort or the word 'gay', but something suddenly makes Draco look very nauseous.

"You don't understand," he shakes his head from side to side slowly. "I don't know about the Muggle world, but in the wizarding world things aren't that simple." He looks up at me gravely. "Maybe people won't join the Dark Lord because of your... _preferences_, but they certainly will rethink their alliance with the Light." Draco stares at me, and I see his anxiety when he understands that I still don't believe him.

"The masses are not like your friends and family. They will not see past it and focus on other things. They will lose faith in you, in the whole cause." he groans hopelessly. "You cannot afford that right now. Not right before the war breaks out in earnest."

I stare at Draco for a long minute. Of course I understand that it would be hard. But god... does that mean I should be unhappy for the rest of my life, my very short life, just because the masses can't handle the truth? Suddenly I feel uninvited tears burning behind my eyes, and in spite of myself they start spilling over. I lean towards Draco, resting my forehead against his shoulder so that he won't see my tears. He startles at my sudden movement, but doesn't move away.

"I can't do this," I mumble to his chest, digging my fingers into the front of his shirt. An awkward hand comes up to stroke my back slowly. I muffle a sob and continue. "I don't care what they think. What right do they have to judge me? They don't have to face Voldemort in battle. Their expected lifespan isn't at a maximum one or two years. They don't have to watch other people give their lives for them, when they themselves can't do a fucking thing about it!" By now I am screaming into Draco's shoulder, and his arms have tightened around me in a embrace.

"It's not fair." I whisper, a series of sobs finally escaping me.

**­­­­­­­­­­­­­___________________________________________________________________**

"It's not fair."

I stifle the urge to laugh. Or cry. "No. It isn't." Of course it isn't. It's not fair that he will have to die. It's not fair that I will have to live to see it. It's not fair that until that time I will have to refuse him again and again, my resolve getting weaker for each time I give in.

And still, I know he doesn't get it. He doesn't realise that what separates him and me is not what has happened between us in the past, but what will happen in the future.

It pains me greatly to have to be the one that has to explain it to him. I take a deep breath and run my fingers through Potter's thick locks. "But as you see, this can't work. You could be risking the whole war for an infatuation. And me being what I am, I will have to watch this end, one way or the other. It might as well be now." The words are hard, but I keep my voice soft and cool.

Potter stills in my arms and lifts his face slowly. He has stopped crying, and his face is suddenly completely expressionless. "Infatuation?" he repeats hollowly. "That's all you think this is?" Suddenly he is screaming, flying to his feet. "God, how stupid _are_ you?" he spits at me, enraged. He paces back and forth in front of me as I watch with wide eyes.

"_Infatuation?!_ Of all the-" he roars, gesticulating wildly with his arms. "You think I would do _all this_ for an infatuation? You think I would do this with _you_, of all people, for a fucking _crush_?!" He swears and kicks a pile of books, unread pages fluttering everywhere. I stand up to make sure he doesn't break anything. Like his bones, for instance.

Potter stops right in front of me, glaring daggers. "_Is_ this just an infatuation for you? If it is, you'd better tell me right now." He stares at me, holding his breath for the answer.

I have none. I am supposed to say yes. Make him disappear from my life so that he can't hurt either of us anymore. But my mouth refuses to form the necessary words.

After a long while Potter releases the breath he was holding. Slowly his mouth spreads into a wicked grin. He chuckles. "I thought so." Throwing his arms around my neck, he presses his forehead to mine.

"Don't you ever try to get rid of me again."

**­­­­­­­­­­­­­___________________________________________________________________**

"That's a nasty habit," I mutter, watching Draco light a cigarette. He sits down on the wide ledge by the window and leans against the wall.

"It's not like they'll affect my health." he answers morbidly. I shudder at the words as I take a seat next to him.

"Don't talk like that." I hate it when he says such things. And he knows it. Draco stares at me blankly before taking another bloss and looking out into the warm June night. "But it's true." he states coolly.

I sigh. Does he think that makes me feel better? That it's true? And still I wonder if the thought doesn't frighten him more than it does me. And still he makes a point of reminding himself and me about it all the time.

"Why do you do that?"

He raises a pale eyebrow at me. "What? Smoke?"

I snort noncomically. "Why do you make everything you do about what you are now?" Draco stares at me completely expressionless. I sigh deeply and continue. "I mean, if I'd talked to you last November and told you smoking is a nasty habit, what would you have said?"

Another moment of silence before he answers. "It doesn't work that way."

I furrow my brow. "Why not?" I press on stubbornly. Draco sighs irritated, crushing the remains of his cigarette into a brick on the outer wall. "Because," he says. "you _wouldn't _have talked to me in November."

Admittedly, it is true. I wouldn't have. But that's not the point. "Okay," I begin anew. "So tell me, why did you start smoking at all?"

Draco throws out his arms with a frustrated growl. "Why do we keep talking about my smoking?" A good question. I shrug. "I'm just trying to learn things about you."

He stares at me incredulously. "What _things_?" he asks, as if my sentiment was totally irrational.

I shrug again and purse my lips. "Normal stuff. Like what's your favourite colour. Or favourite flavour of ice cream. Where you grew up, stuff like that."

Draco still looks slightly annoyed, but a small smile has appeared on his lips. He relaxes back against the wall. "You do know that we're not _normal_, right?"

I smile softly at him. "I know." Of course I know. I've never been normal. And I guess I'll never have the time to become normal, either. I stand up and grab Draco's hand. He stares at me in surprise.

"Let's just pretend for now, shall we?" I pull him towards the unmade bed.

Afterwards I lie with my head on his chest, slowly getting used to the idea that I am not supposed to hear a heartbeat. "You should cut your hair." he mumbles, running his fingers through my locks.

"So should you." I snort, raising myself to look at Draco's by now shoulder-length hair. He only smiles and doesn't say anything more. I lie back down and curl myself around his body. I close my eyes and listen to the blowing of the wind outside, slowly falling asleep. After a long while Draco breaks the silence.

"White." he says. I manage a surprised "huh?" in my half-asleep state, but cannot find the strength to move. He continues nevertheless. "My favourite colour." After a few seconds of silence he sighs deeply and relaxes into the mattress.

I smile happily into his chest and let sleep claim me.

**­­­­­­­­­­­­­___________________________________________________________________**

"Weasley's mother is here."

He looks up from his book first in surprise, then in wonderment. "It's so weird when you do that." He shakes his head smiling. I snort. "It's no trick. One could smell that ghastly amount of food from New Zeeland."

"Well," Potter stands up from the floor, waiting for me. "Let's go."

"What?" I ask incredulously, keeping my nose in my book. Potter sighs exaggeratedly. "I thought you Malfoys were supposed to have good manners."

I sneer in response. "Well, yes. We do. But I used to think Saint Potter wore a Gryffindor-gold thong and had a picture of Dumbledore tattooed on his arse. Illusions break." A sniggering Potter raises an eyebrow and reaches out his hand for me. "Come on. They're really nice people. And I bet they have some news about the outside world."

When I still only stare blankly at him, he finally resorts to begging. "Ple-eease?" he whines, stomping his feet and pouting like an overgrown child. As if I would fall for that.

Unfortunately, I do.

"All right," I growl, rising from the floor with what I believe is a very sour look on my face. Potter shines like the sun and hugs me quickly before scurrying off to the doors. "Come on."

I leave the sanctity of my library and follow him to the kitchen, dragging my feet after me. When Potter enters the room, I remain standing in the hall. Family reunions are just too disgusting to bear.

"Harry!" I hear Molly Weasley's voice and peek around the corner just in time to see Potter being embedded in a motherly hug by the red haired woman.

"Did you hear, Harry? Dad's in the hospital." the Weasel says, voice shaking slightly. Potter's eyes widen in panic. "What? Is he alright?"

Molly Weasley smiles. "Arthur is just fine. He was cursed in the leg during a raid yesterday, but they say he'll be as good as new in a week or so." The woman smiles encouragingly at the Golden Trio. "It's nothing you three should be worrying about. Besides, I though that as long as Arthur is in at St Mungo's, I might as well stay here. It's a good thing, too, that I can be here and cook for you. Growing children need proper food, and the stuff that comes out of the dumbwaiter is absolutely appalling."

I snort at the Weasley mother and am just about to sneak off when I hear an ominous bang from the North Wing. Two seconds later I watch in mild horror as two red-heads fly down the stairs on a pair of very scruffy brooms, followed by a cloud of thick greenish smoke. The red-headed duo stops cold in their tracks and just about fall off their brooms when they see me in the doorway.

"Malfoy!" Whichever one of the twin shrieks, pulling his scruffy broom to an abrupt stop. The other red-head has no time to react and crashes right into his brother. When they finally manage to collect themselves and their brooms from the floor, they don't even have courtesy to be intimidated by my irritated expression.

"Hah, Malfoy!" I guess it's the second twin that is addressing me now.

I sigh irritated. "I guess we have established that yes, that is infact my name." The twins only laugh at that, and the other one hurries to continue.

"You are just the person we wanted to see." he grins wickedly.

I raise an eyebrow. "I highly doubt that." The red-head opens his mouth to elaborate, but is silenced when his brother elbows him in the side.

"Mum!" he hisses. The others confused look turns into a grin once again. "Later," he mutters, just as Mrs Weasley walks into the hall.

"Fred! George! What was that noise I heard just-" She jumps slightly as she turns and sees me leaning against the wall. "Oh! Draco, I didn't see you there..." I snort. That much is obvious.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Weasley." I nod curtly. Then I look past her and see the Golden Trio peeking into the hall. Granger looks worried. "What was that noise?"

Molly Weasley raises an eyebrow at her sons, and the twins fidget under her stern gaze. One of them scratches his ear as he begins. "We were just flyin- uhm _carrying_ our luggage to one of the guestrooms, but the broo- uhm _suitcase _flew into one of those house elf-heads on the wall."

"And well... it exploded." the other one continues, not looking too sorry about the incident.

Mrs Weasley doesn't look all too pleased with her sons. "Are you two trying to get yourselves killed? Isn't it enough that your father is at St Mungo's. Do you want to join him?"

The twins purse their mouths, muttering a not to sincere "sorry" simultaneously. Potter looks at the Weasley family with a concerned brow.

"Where's Ginny?"

Despite myself, I feel a green eyed monster feeding on my chest at the mentioning of the Weaslette. Why does Potter care anyway?

"Oh, she's fine. She's staying at my sister's house. I wouldn't like for a girl in her age to be caught up in all that's happening here." Mrs Wealsey assures him, seemingly happy that Potter pays interest to her only (thank god for that!) daughter.

"Yes, she's probably thrilled to death that she gets to stay at aunt Paddy's." Fred scoffs, his words drenched in ill disguised sarcasm.

"No doubt." his brother answers in the same manner, picking up his poor excuse of a broom. "We'll take our things to our room now."

Molly nods, but I cough slightly to gain their attention. "There are no more vacant rooms in the North Wing. You may sleep in the West one." I nod towards the stairs to my sanctuary. Potter, Granger, Weasley and his mother stare at me cautiously. The twins only grin. "Great!" They summon their suitcases and walk towards the West Wing.

"Well, I think I'll begin the preparations for dinner." Mrs Weasley mumbles, withdrawing to the kitchen. Potter still looks at me worriedly.

"You don't _have_ to have them in your wing, you know?" he says, ignoring Granger's and the Weasel's confused stares. I only shake my head dismissively. "It's fine. But if they blow up anything, they're out of there."

Potter looks like he still wants to say something, but I hurry to turn away and stalk towards the West Wing. Just to make sure where the twins of destruction have made camp. I hear a rumble from the master bedroom, and walk in to find the twins unpacking their things into the closet. I lean against the doorway.

"Weasley!" I roar, and they both jump slightly at the sound of my voice.

"Damn, Malfoy!" the one I by now have been able to identify as George sniggers. "You just love sneaking up on people, don't ya?"

Fred also turns around and chuckles. "Ah, here the pretty boy is."

I ignore them and say what I came here for. "Just so the two of you know, the bedrooms in the West Wing are the Black family quarters. If you destroy _anything_ in here, I will personally see to it that you die, strangled with your own intestines." Though I give away nothing that tells of the fact if I am joking or not, the twins only laugh.

"Okay, Malfoy. We get it." Fred sniggers.

"No explosions." George affirms.

I nod. "Thank you." Just when I turn to leave the twins yell. "Wait a second!" George hurries past me and shuts the double doors in my face. "Cast a Silencing Charm, will you?" he tells his brother. "Just in case Mum comes sniffing about."

As Fred casts the spell I take a seat in the only chair in the room. I sneer. "What's this about?"

"Well," Fred begins, sitting down on the bed while his brother sits cross-legged on the floor. "You've heard of the Weasley Wizarding Wheezes, haven't you?"

"Yes," I confirm, raising an eyebrow at the unexpected topic. "You made those Canary Cream-stuffs, didn't you? Montague once ate one just before a Quidditch match. Professor Snape threatened to expel anyone causing us to lose the game because of feathered vertebrates again."

After the twins have stopped laughing, George continues. "Okay, so we can see that the Canary Creams work just fine. But we have a certain problem with our Skiving Snackbox."

I must have misheard that. "Your _what_?"

The twins snigger. "The Skiving Snackbox." George repeats.

"Contains Fainting Fancies, Fever Fudge, Nosebleed Nougat and Puking Pastilles." Fred elaborates. "All you need for skiving unpleasant classes." They both smile proudly. I silently wonder which bizarre universe I have been sucked in to.

"And what do I have to do with this?" I ask incredulously. What _could_ I possibly have to do with this?

"Well, you se," George begins, taking out a green wooden box from one of the suitcases. "We are having small problems with the Nosebleed Nougat." He digs through the box for a minute before holding out his hand towards me. I reach out and take the two small sweets he is holding, one orange and one purple.

"The orange one is the one that causes the nosebleed, while the purple one is supposed to stop it." Fred explains.

"The orange one works just fine, but we are having some problems with the purple one..." George continues.

"So," they say simultaneously. "Lee Jordan told us that vampire venom might work to coagulate the blood so the nosebleed stops."

I raise an eyebrow at the twins. "You want me to give you _venom_?"

Fred grins. "Yes, please."

"And maybe a hand with the brewing?" George pleads. "Rumor has it that you are quite good at potions."

I think about the proposition for a moment. It's not like I can't take an hour off once in a while from the research. And god, it's been long since I sat a foot in a potions lab. And it actually sounds quite interesting. But to experiment with these..._Weasleys_...

"You do understand the risks involved with this experiment?" I bore my eyes into the twins. "If you make a tiniest mistake, you could be turning people into half-morphed vampires for good."

"That's why we need you." the twins press on.

"If it doesn't take too much out of your grooming time." Fred jokes.

I remain quiet for another minute before I finally exhale and shrug. "I guess someone has to look after you to see to it that you don't blow up the house."

"Wicked! Thanks mate." the twins cheer, both patting me friendly on the back as we rise from our seats. The concept is utterly disturbing; a Malfoy being civil with Weasleys.

"Well, I think I'd better go now." I mumble, walking towards the doors. In the doorway I turn back towards the twins. "You can find me in the library when you need me."

"Sure thing, mate. Thanks again!"

I close the doors behind me and walk down the stairs to wards the library. How the hell did I get mixed up in such idiotic and pointless dissipations? Though truthfully I wait with anticipation to have something else to do besides read all day long. Even though I've started to sleep a few hours each night thanks to Potter, I still have an enormous amount of time on my hands each day.

Potter is not in the library. Maybe I shouldn't have expected him to come here any more today. He has the Weasel and Granger here now, I shouldn't expect to spend as much time with him as before. Not that I miss him when he's not here.

It's just that it is slightly less entertaining to talk to oneself.


	19. Spinning Wheel

"You don't _have_ to have them in your wing, you know?"

Hermione and Ron look at me disbelievingly, but I ignore them, only focusing on Draco. He shakes his head dismissively. "It's fine. But if they blow up anything, they're out of there."

I want to push the matter further, but Draco turns around and follows the twins upstairs. I turn to Ron and Hermione.

"What was that about?" Ron asks me with a furrowed brow. I play oblivious. "What?"

Ron purses his lips. "Why would you be concerned over if Malfoy wants Fred and George in the West Wing or not? It's your house for Merlin's sake!"

Yes, it does seem pretty odd, doesn't it. Mostly I just don't want the twins in the West Wing because they might notice how much time I spend there. It's not like I need any more challenges with this whole Draco-thing. Of course, that is not a suitable thing to tell Ron and Hermione.

I shrug nonchalantly at Ron. "I'm just worried about the arguments the three of them might get in to. Your brothers aren't exactly the quietest of neighbours."

Ron thinks about my words for a moment, but finally seems to agree. "You're right. It wouldn't be fun to have to be the one going between them in a fight."

I fight the urge to sigh with relief and hurry to change the subject instead. "I don't feel like going back to the library right now-" _A blatant lie._ "What would you say to a game of chess? I'll be sure to beat you this time."

Ron grins disbelievingly. "In your dreams." But he scurries off to the North Wing after the chess board. I feel a relieved sigh escape me and turn towards Hermione. She is staring at me with a furrowed brow, looking as if I were a particularly hard Arithmacy problem she is trying to solve.

"What?" I ask her, feeling somewhat self-conscious under her intensive gaze. Hermione keeps staring at me for another moment before she answers.

"You're hiding something." she states coolly.

I force my face to look totally innocent. "Am not." It doesn't sound too convincing.

Hermione raises a doubtful eyebrow at me. "You're lying. You always widen your eyes and look unnaturally innocent when you do." Unfortunately I realise her words are true. I swallow loudly and immediately relax my saucer-sized eyes.

"What would I have to hide?" I ask her, grinning and trying to make her believe her accusations are completely unjustified. Hermione narrows her eyes and studies me closely. "That's what I'm trying to find out."

The smile fades from my face as I realise I am too late in faking innocence. "Well, you won't." I say, clearly indicating that Hermione should just forget about the whole thing. For her own good.

But of course she won't. She looks very surprised at my extremely defensive position, though. "We'll see." she mutters, just as Ron rumbles down the stairs.

"Sorry I took so long, the Queen had run off again. I found her harassing a cockroach under the bed." he huffs, holding forth the magical chess piece. "Well?"

"Yeah, let's go play." I mutter, casting one last wary look at Hermione before following Ron towards the drawing room. In the doorway, Ron turns back towards Hermione.

"Aren't you coming?" he asks.

"...No," she states slowly, giving me a wary look. "I think I'll go to the library. I hope I can find a book I'm searching for there." She turns and walks towards the West Wing. Ron and I watch her departing, Ron looking rather forlorn.

"How are things going with you two?" I ask carefully, giving him a cautious look. It's not like Ron and I have ever really discussed him and Hermione, but for as long as I can remember I've thought it's only a matter of time before they get together. But with all the fights they have ever had, I've never seen Ron look this blue.

"Let's just play chess." he mutters, stomping into the drawing room and throwing the board onto the table with a crash.

I nod silently, casting one last look into the empty corridor before following.

**­___________________________________________________________________**

My fifth cigarette. Potter still hasn't come.

Absentmindedly I eye through the pages of _Knives are for Mudbloods: A Hundred Spells for Murder_, finding myself listening intently for the sound of steps.

This library is driving me crazy. I go over book after book after book, and nothing useful comes up. Is there truly no way to defeat the Dark Lord? These books are filled with dark magic, potions and horrifying spells, and yet nothing catches my eye as anything that would work against the greatest dark wizard of all times. There is nothing here that can make Potter's powers mach the Dark Lord's.

Frustrated I light my sixth cigarette and am just about to give up when I hear the light tapping of feet in the corridor. I become excited for a second, before I realise those steps do not belong to Potter.

The double doors open, and over the threshold steps Granger. She looks surprised at seeing me, but proceeds into the room nonetheless.

"...Malfoy. What are you doing here?" the bushy haired girl asks, warily taking a seat in the other armchair. I raise an unamused eyebrow and lift up my book for her to see. Just in case it wasn't obvious what one does in a library.

"Oh, of course." Granger blushes forlornly, lowering her gaze to her hands. She sits there for a moment, staring at her lap. After a minute I get utterly bored with the uncomfortable silence and decide to ignore the girl, returning to my book.

"What are you reading?" Granger's voice cuts through the concentrated bubble I've created around me. I sigh irritatedly, reading the title out loud for her before turning more unread pages.

"_A Hundred Spells for Murder_?" the girl repeats horrified, interrupting me again. "Why would you read something like that?"

Because I am a perverted sadist who likes to boil little children in oil, of course. Is the girl an idiot or what? "I am investigating spells that Potter might be able to use against the Dark Lord." I mutter, intently hoping that thus the conversation will be concluded. I am to be sorely disappointed.

"Really?" Granger looks more surprised than she should be. "You're going through all these books for _Harry_?"

I take on my most vicious expression. "Not for Potter, you silly girl. For the cause." I hiss. Granger doesn't seem to believe me. Luckily she doesn't start arguing, only gives me a quizzical look as she rises from the chair.

"Mind telling me which books you've gone through, so that I don't waste my time with those?" she asks, looking around the room.

I point to the wall behind her. "I've read all those on the back wall and some on the long one. If you stay by the shelves next to the window you won't get mixed up." I turn back to my book, determined to ignore the bushy haired witch from now on.

I hear Granger rumble around by the shelves, looking at some or other book before putting it back into th shelf. My cigarette burns out and after a while my head starts to ache from irritation from the tension in the room and the racket Granger makes. It amazes me how such a small girl can step so heavily on the floor and make so much noise just putting books into the shelves. I think gratefully of Potter who always makes a point of not being too loud around me.

"Don't you have to feed soon again?" Granger asks, her tentative voice breaking the silence once again. In spite of myself I draw in a loud breath at the question. Whenever I manage to forget about my condition, someone always gets the brilliant idea to remind me of it. I raise my gaze from the book to look at Granger murderously. She shudders under my cold gaze, but doesn't look away. I find myself forced to answer.

"It's been a week tomorrow." I mutter. The situation reminds me of the conversations I used to have with Potter not long ago. It's only been a week since our situation changed. How can that time seem so distant?

"Well, tell me when you need me." Granger says. It is not the words that shock me, but the way in which Granger says them. Her voice is low and soft, and she looks at me from the corner of her eyes, a small smile playing on her lips. If I didn't know better I'd think Granger was flirting with me. I stare at her for a terrified minute, unable to answer.

Soon it seems Granger realises she's said something deeply perturbing, and turns back to her book, an embarrassed flush covering her cheeks. She seems to be shrinking in the chair, making herself as small as possible. I too return to my book, sincerely hoping that I am imagining things. But it's hard to ignore the fast beating heart I hear from across the room.

_And here I thought my life couldn't get any harder._

Three excruciating hours snail past. Granger turns the pages of her book nonchalantly, but the rhythm of her heart doesn't slow down. The sound is driving me crazy, and I dig my nails into the armrest of the chair just to stop myself from screaming at her to get over whatever the ridiculous fantasy she is having.

Of course I have had girls have crushes on me before. But earlier I wasn't this over-sensitive to their reactions. And back then it was girls like Pansy or Daphne Greengrass. Not Granger the Mudblood.

Not my lover's best friend.

Granger can't have a crush on me. I can't have her clinging after me, snooping around all the time. She does enough of that either way. I can't have her find out about Potter and I.

Finally I look over to the window and see the sun setting behind the horizon. Sighing relieved I then rise from my chair. "It's getting late and I've been here all day. I think I'll retire now." I nod at the girl and before she has time to answer, I stalk out through the door.

My nails dig furiously into my clenched hands as I walk through the corridors. I don't know who exactly I am angry at. Granger, for being an absolute fool for thinking- well, anything about me? Myself, for being what I am? Or Potter perhaps, for existing and bringing that horrid girl here to bother me?

Potter.

Before I know it, my feet are carrying me towards the North Wing. An unfamiliar area of the house, not because I rarely go there but because it is the guest quarters. As this is the Black house, the quarters are not dirty or shabby. But they are not the glamorous rooms of Malfoy Mansion, nor as luxurious as the family rooms of the Black House have once been. The guest rooms of Grimmauld Place are more dilapidated than any place I've ever slept in. Except for the street that cold night in December, of course.

I have never been in Potter's room, yet I find it easily. How many nights have I not been tortured by hearing him move around behind these walls? I reach out for the handle of the oak door, and the old hinges creek as I slide it open.

Potter sits by a small desk in front of the window with his back turned towards me. He jumps slightly at the sound of the door opening and turns around. His face lightens up as he recognises me.

"Draco!" he smiles, stumbling up from his chair and almost falling over in excitement. "What are you doing here?"

I plan to give him some kind of answer, but as he rises and moves towards me, I can't find the words. The only thing I am thinking is that I can't have Granger mess this up.

_I can't lose him. _

Potter reaches me, and we are both equally surprised when I grab him around the waist and pull him to me. His surprised yelp is muffled by my lips against his, and turns to a moan as he trows his arms around my neck. I push the door shut behind me as Potter starts clawing at my shirt. He slides it off my shoulders just as I start tugging at the hem of his t-shirt. We break the kiss and Potter takes a step back to let me tug the cloth over his head.

I meet his intense gaze and can but stare at him for a moment, both of our laboured breathing echoing in the room. I smell the night air in the room and the apple shampoo in Potter's hair. Then as one person we throw ourselves at each other, and this time I can't let go. I lead Potter backwards towards the drawer at one wall. His back arches and he has a hard time staying upright as he leans backwards over the drawer. I wrap my arms hands his knees and lift him up closer to me, and he wraps his legs around my waist. As I put him down on the top of the drawer he keeps his hold on me, kissing me fervently.

I run my hands over his back and pull away enough to be able to kiss my way down his chin to his throat. The loud pounding of his pulse makes me dizzy, and I feel my fangs appear, a low growl escaping my lips. Potter startles slightly and pulls away to get a look at me. I smile apologetically, ashamed of my inability to control myself.

Potter grins widely as he sees the fags, and a small light awakens in his eyes. "Oh." is his only response, a wicked smile spreading on his face. I am startled as he proceeds to kiss the breath out of me, before grabbing my right hand and bringing it up to his throat. He pulls away and smiles encouragingly. His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath and throws his head back, exposing his pale throat. I do not need more encouragement.

Potter shudders as my teeth pierce his skin, his heels digging into my lower back. The warm liquid flows down my throat, and I feel myself take a steadier grip on Potter. Potter trembles, his at first quiet moans getting louder for each passing second. For the first time in this huge house, I suddenly fear someone might hear us.

With strong willpower I withdraw my teeth from Potter's hot skin, my thirst not yet sated. He turns to look at me in surprise, and I hurry to kiss his gaping mouth, whispering between our lips. "...We have to be quiet."

I don't even know if he heard me, he only continues kissing me. After a minute I pull away again to continue ravage his throat. Potter trembles like before, but closes his eyes and clenches his teeth to keep from moaning out loud. The room is deadly silent, Potter's heavy breathing echoing eerily in the quiet evening.

My thirst finally sated, I withdraw my fangs and proceed to lap at the small wounds. Potter moans from the loss of contact and opens his eyes to look at me with brilliant green eyes. I lose myself in that gaze, gasping surprisedly as Potter turns to kiss me. Within seconds I am ravaging his mouth, my fingers digging into his back as I hug him as close as possible. His hands are in my hair, around my neck, on my back.

"Bed." Potter orders between kisses, taking a firmer grip around my neck. I do not hesitate to lift him up, carrying him to the bed. I lay him down upon it and he pulls me to him, his legs still around my waist. I jerk off his shorts before removing my own trousers. Potter's smile is bright and expectant. He shows nothing of nervous insecurity of our first time. Gods, was it only a week ago?

I prepare him quickly before slowly sheathing myself. He grimaces slightly as his flesh gives in to the intrusion, but the pained groans are soon replaced by loud gasps of pleasure. I kiss his lips, his jaw, his sweaty forehead, repeating his name over and over again between kisses. I would be embarrassed were he not repeating my name just as loudly, demanding it harder, faster, more, forever. Breathless promises echoing into the core of my being, the dept of my existence.

Time and time again we give ourselves away to this ephemeral moment of happiness, this fading feeling of belonging. This completion. This joy that I've for years watched other people find in everyday life. The joy that I could never feel.

I had to die to find it. In this brief, deranged moment I almost tell him I love him. But of course, I don't. Because even looking down at his beautiful face, his perfect lips repeating my name and my name alone, I know that eventually this will all be lost. And for that particular reason I am eternally grateful of this moment. To know happiness; the mad, beautiful happiness I feel right now, is more than I could have ever asked for.

For while happiness is a fleeting, fickle thing, memories can be carried on forever.

**­**


	20. Brother

I wake to the sound of birds singing. Opening my eyes, I see the morning sun coming in through the open window. The room is freezing in the chilly morning air, but I can't bother to get up. Instead I snuggle closer to the sleeping body beside me. Drawing the blanket higher on top of us, I curl up beside Draco and bury my head in his neck. I breathe in his strong scent of musk and cigarettes, and marvel at the simple perfection of this moment.

After a moment Draco stirs beneath me, and I lift my head to watch him slowly open his eyes. "Morning," I smile.

He grunts acknowledging. "Have you been awake long?" he tries to stretch his body as much as he can with his right arm still stuck beneath me.

"Only a little while," I say, in awe watching Draco's flexing muscles. He gazes back at me, cocking an amused eyebrow at my dreamy stare.

"I'd better get up," he then says, pulling his arm out from under me and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He reaches up and stretches his arms with a groan. I watch the lean muscles of his back with a small frown. Even as Draco has given up trying to fight that he wants me, it is as if he is still trying to deny the whole situation. It is as if we are not _with_ each other, we are nothing beyond before.

I watch him get up and pull on his rumpled trousers from yesterday. Sighing, I sit up in the bed. I feel childish and ungrateful complaining about this. When I've already gotten so much further with Draco than I could've ever imagined, what right do I have to complain? I know I am too greedy. But try as I may, I still can't deny the fact that I _do_ want more. More than this momentary affection, this occasional surrender.

Draco turns to me upon buttoning his shirt, furrowing his brow at my frown. I can see that he recognises my disappointment, and I make no attempt to hide it. He stares at me for a long moment, his features somewhat mournful but determined. Finally I can't take it anymore. I climb out of bed and walk over to him. Stark naked I throw my arms around his neck and press my forehead to his. Closing my eyes, I breath in his musky scent and just stand there, trying to keep whatever contact I can for as long as possible.

His arms come up to wrap around my back, and I hear him take in an uneven breath. Neither of us says a word. What could I say? I can't ask him for anything more than he's already given.

_I just wish that I didn't have to ask._

For a moment I wonder if maybe Draco was right in the first place. Maybe this truly is too hard. Perhaps it would be easier for both of us if we just ended it now, before we get too involved.

I open my eyes to look at him. Staring into his eyes, those silver pools gazing back to me with such intensity, I realise I am too involved already. Maybe Draco is able to protect himself from this pain by lying to himself, but I passed that point long ago. Or maybe he isn't lying to himself, but I am? Maybe all of this really is just in my head?

I feel tears burning behind my eyes, and as I try to blink them away Draco's hand comes up to caress my cheek. Hot, salty tears spill over, and I feel my lower lip shake as Draco wipes them away. He pulls me towards him, pressing me against his chest so tightly I can hardly breathe. I cling to his shirt, smiling through my tears.

In spite of it all, I know he _does_ care. Even if he will never say so. Even if it will never be enough.

We stand like this for a long time. Even as my tears run out, Draco keeps holding me ever so tightly against him. I feel exhausted, but refuse to let go in fear of losing this. Just as I fear my feet might give out from under me, I suddenly I find myself hoisted up into strong arms. Draco lays me down on the bed and pulls the covers over me, chuckling slightly as I refuse to ease my grip on him. Eventually he climbs into the bed next to me, on top of the covers but so close that I am able to keep holding on to him.

"Go back to sleep, it's still early." he breathes softly, laying a comforting arm over me. I bury my face into his chest and feel myself instantly drifting off to sleep. Draco's hand comes up to gently run through my hair. "I won't leave you." he whispers, probably thinking I am too far gone already to hear him. But I do hear him, and with a smile on my face I fall into unconsciousness.

_This has to be enough. _

* * *

Another thing we do not speak of afterwards. I watch him smile at me sadly every time he leaves me to join the Weasel and Mudblood. As if he expects me to disappear from his life while he is away. And I cannot smile back reassuringly. I cannot promise him that I will be here when he returns to my rooms, to my arms. I can provide him with no certain answer.

There is to be an Order meeting in a week. The 2nd of July. I realise my birthday has passed almost a month ago. The 5th of June, my seventeenth birthday, legally providing me with the right to preform magic unsupervised. The moment I have been waiting for my whole life.

And somehow it passed unnoticed. The absurdity of the idea that the Malfoy heir's coming of age was neglected, forgotten even, hits me. I laugh so hard that I drop the book I am holding. Potter stares at me with intrigued confusion. "Why are you laughing?"

My laughter dies out and I turn to the inky haired boy lying beside me. His tousled hair is floating over the pillow, his eyes are half open, sight slightly hazed from sleep and the absence of his glasses.

"Your birthday is soon." I tell him. Yes, The Chosen One's coming of age. I can hear the gospels already.

Potter snuggles further into the mattress beside me. He yawns. "And how come that's so funny?"

"I was just imagining the state of the house after you have tried your new unrestrained magic on it." I drawl.

He snorts noncomically, smirking up at me. "I appreciate that your faith in me. Besides, it's not as if the house doesn't need a renovation anyway."

I huff, but refrain from answering. I couldn't expect this Muggle-raised dimwit to understand that one does not just '_renovate'_ the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black.

"What are your plans for today?" I ask him, setting my book aside on the bedside table. Potter smiles widely, happy for this rare occasion when he has my undivided attention.

"Well, Ron and I wanted to practice duelling, like we did yesterday. But that didn't end so well, so Hermione forbade us from continuing with that until we've finished our summer homework. In other words, never." he mutters, not completely without amusement. Even though I am disgusted by the mere idea of even thinking it, I must admit I am grateful of the Mudblood. The stupid Weasel could have easily killed Potter by mistake with that wand of his. "You then?" Potter asks.

I shrug. "Same old, same old." It's not exactly true. I promised the twins I would help them with their experiments today. "And of course, preparing for the meeting next week."

"Oh, right." Potter's face falls at the mentioning of the meeting. "I had forgotten about that."

Though I do not understand Potter's dislike for the meetings, I can certainly relate to it. I hate all those people, coming here and turning our already disrupted life into a sodding circus. Is it not enough that I have to live with the snoopy Mudblood, the Weasel, and his loony brothers? But to have all those other people in this house, sitting at that table, each time questioning my presence and my motives... It's positively repulsing.

"We just had a meeting. We do we have to have a new one already?" Potter mutters. I raise an eyebrow at him. "What?" he asks incredulosly. "It's not like they ever tell us anything new anyway!"

I snort at his childishness. "Maybe nothing major, but any trivial minor detail we come about now might be of big importance in the future. You have to think of the bigger picture."

He doesn't like me scolding him. Mostly because he knows I am right. Pouting he buries his nose in the pillow. "I still don't like it."

I chuckle and run a fingertip over his bare shoulder. "Neither do I." He shivers at the brief contact and I snigger slightly as I lean over to kiss him. "Let's take a shower." I murmur as my lips brush over his, briefly wondering where those words suddenly erupted from. I climb over Potter and off the bed before he even has the time to shut his gaping mouth. "T-together?" he stammers, sitting up rapidly and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

I only chuckle as I disappear into the bathroom.

* * *

In an extremely pleasant mood I approach the Potions lab in the West Wing. From a far distance I can hear the Weasley twins crack jokes about some or other ridiculous subject. Important questions like "have you ever wondered how Blast-Ended Screws mate?" or "what type of heroin do you think Trelawney mixes in her tea?" call through the walls. I brace myself for hours of the twins' agonizing company as I walk through the door.

The twins jump at the sudden opening of the door. "Geez, Malfoy!" Fred grins. "You could at least knock."

"I think he must have a serious fetish of sneaking up on people. Don't you agree, Fred?" George chimes in. His brother nods enthusiastically. "Yes, I do. I recall a time in fifth year when he snuck into the girls' dorm and caught Angelina Johnson in her underwear."

_Excuse me?_

"No, no, Fred. That was you." George reminds his demented brother sympathetically.

Fred grins. "Yes, it was." He shrugs apologetically. "I do anything to tell that story."

I roll my eyes at the laughing morons and walk over to the large black cauldron. A light purple potion is stewing on the fire, bubbling lightly. "Is this the potion for the Nosebleed Nougat?" I ask, cautiously lifting a ladle with the lilac liquid to examine it closer.

"We've only just started. That's the base to the potion." George grins proudly, handing me a small piece of parchment where messy notes are scribbled. "This is the original recipe."

I read through the notes carefully twice before turning to the twins. "I am surprised to have to admit that this is really quite good work." I drawl, pointing to the parchment. "But for the venom to be added, some fine adjustments must be made."

The twins nod enthusiastically. "We expected as much."

I walk over to one of the shelves and grab a piece of parchment and a quill. "The pixy eggs must be reduced from 30 ounces to 25 ounces, as the besoar extract won't be able to serve to keep both the toxic pixy eggs and the venom at bay." I explain clearly while I scribble down the notes on the parchment. "Because of the reduced amount of pixy eggs, only one blueberry root will be required. And we might have to add a dove heart, just in case."

I walk over to the cauldron, the Weasleys' recipe still in my hand. "What of all this is in the base?"

"Frog's breath, the besoar extract, the bark from a Juniper tree..." Fred counts up the ingredients on his fingers. "Oh, and the bone marrow of a hare." he explains.

"Well, then," I grin. "This will take a while, but we're up to a good start."

* * *

I never realised how much I'd missed Potions. The smoky room, the refined, valuable substances. The way the subject demands ones undivided attention and precision in measuring and preparing the ingredients.

Truly the hobby for neurotics.

Five days later, we are finally at the final stage. "Well," I say as I add the ground fang of a bat. "I guess it's time for the venom." I can't quite manage to keep my voice as steady as I would like for it to be. I turn to Fred as I walk towards the table with the ingredients. "Stir the potion 23 times clockwise, then 11 times counter-clockwise. Not too fast, not too slow." I command.

Picking up a needle and a small vial, I tug up the sleeve of my left arm. In spite of their attempt to hide it, I see both of the twins casting cautious looks at my forearm. As if there by now were any doubt that I do not have the Dark Mark. Fred turns away quickly when I catch him staring, but George keeps his eyes nailed to my arm. I follow his gaze to the still pink scars on my wrists. Swallowing loudly, I hurry to push the needle into my arm.

"_Minuo_" I mutter under my breath, and the toxic blood runs smoothly from the needle to the vial below it. It is as if I was still alive and actually able to bleed. When the vial is filled, I withdraw the needle and the blood in the wound coagulates instantly. George's eyes are still fixated on my arm even as I pull down the sleeve.

"Why did you do that?" he croaks, cautiously meeting my gaze. I don't even bother to pretend not to know what he is talking about.

I avert my eyes and turn to measure the crimson liquid. "I had to test the theory that vampires can't commit suicide." The following silence is awkward. Fred keeps stirring the potion and pretending that he doesn't hear what's being said. I can only hope he doesn't miscount.

To my surprise, George pushes the subject. "You actually tried to off yourself because you became a vampire?" He sounds as if what he is saying is totally ridiculous, as if he can't believe it. "I guess that could be called a well prolonged beauty sleep."

I sigh incredulously. "Not because I became a vampire _per se_, but to make a long story short; I guess one could say that, yes." I carry the measured blood over to the cauldron, and pour it while Fred keeps stirring. The stewing mixture turns from a bluish green to inky black within seconds. "Now there's only the pixy eggs and the dove heart left." I state, therefore concluding the previous, very uncomfortable subject.

We hurry to add the missing ingredients, and watch with trepidation as the potion starts oozing something terribly. As the grey smoke fades away, we see the liquid slowly turn from pitch black to the same tone of purple as the base had.

"How do we know if it works?" I ask the twins, who look at each other with raised eyebrows. "One of us tries it." they say simultaneously, grinning merrily. As if they weren't just assigning one of them to voluntarily swallowing vampire venom.

"Remember," I warn, meeting both of their gazes gravely. "Once the venom gets into your system and starts its process, it can't be reversed. If we have failed in negating the tainted particles and preventing the intoxicational process... there's no going back." I look back and forth between the two of them. "Is this Skiving Snackbox really worth that risk?"

Fred and George look at each other and shrug. "It's our life's work." Fred grins.

"Yeah. If we don't do this when we have the means, who knows what that could prevent us from in the future." George agrees.

I swallow. I guess I can't stop them. And on some level, I don't want to. I want to know that I succeeded in this. I want to feel accomplished in something, after spending all those moths in the library without finding a single useful spell against the Dark Lord.

I nod at the twins and turn towards the door. "I can't be in here when one of you gets the nosebleed. I'll be just outside." The twins grin eagerly and I shut the door behind me. Soon I hear George exclaim "Geez, Fred, don't bleed on my shoes!". Leaning against the wall of the corridor, I count the seconds.

Two minutes creep by, and I am starting to get anxious. Soon I can't take it anymore, and reach for the door handle.

"Draco! What are you doing here?"

I freeze in my steps and turn towards Potter walking towards me in the hall. "Harry, I don't think this is the time." It's not that I think Potter would mind knowing I spend time with the Weasley twins. But I do not want to see the expression on his face if he finds out I almost turned Fred into a vampire. Well, 'almost' is a ominous word right now, as I don't yet know what has happened.

Potter is standing right in front of me now, looking at me with a furrowed brow. "Why? What is it?" He sounds concerned. I open my mouth without even knowing what I am going to say, but before I even have time to think about my answer the door suddenly bursts open.

* * *

Things happen so fast.

George bursts through the door with a wide grin at Draco, shouting "Success!". For a fragment of a second I wonder what he is on about, before I turn to look at Draco. His body has gone totally rigid, and his nostrils are flaring as he stares somewhere past George's shoulder. I cast a glimpse into the room and see Fred standing in the middle of the floor, grinning widely, the front of his shirt stained red.

Blood red.

I turn back towards Draco but I am too late. The only thing I have time to see as he jumps past me and George is a black shadow and a flash of flaxen hair. The next thing I know is that there is screaming, there is blood, Draco is...

_Draco._

"Draco, NO!" I shout, rushing forward to pull the ravenous vampire off Fred. Of course I am no match for Draco in strength, but I manage to push my hand flat in front of his mouth. His canines pierce my skin deeply, and a low cry escapes me. I keep my hand in place though, and Draco lets go of Fred to keep my hand still. Fred lies paralyzed on the floor for a moment before he seems to find his limbs and has the presence of mind to scramble to his feet.

I myself sit down on my knees in front of Draco and fight to keep my hand still. I manage in spite of the trembling that begins when the pleasure starts seeping through the bite. Draco lets go of my hand and grabs my forearms violently, pulling me forwards towards him. He drinks from the palm of my hand with closed eyes, but doesn't let go of my arms. I put my free hand on his shoulder gently before turning to look at the horrified twins in the doorway.

"It's all right." I mumble, trying to think of a way to convince them that Draco really isn't dangerous. Not right now, at least. "Fred, I think you should get away from here as soon as possible." I nod to his blood drenched t-shirt, trying to figure out what he's done to make himself look like that. "You aren't hurt, are you?" I ask, worried for both Fred's and Draco's sake.

"N-no" Fred stammers, clenching his drenched shirt. "Nosebleed Nougat..." he manages to mumble, before he quickly backs away and flees down the hall. I can only hope he doesn't run into anyone. That would do great damage to the fragile truce between Draco and the other Order members.

I look at George pleadingly. "Could you run after him and make sure he's all right?"

George looks at the vampire in front of me cautiously. "I don't know-" he murmurs doubtfully. I cut him off. "I'll be fine. Just go make sure Fred's all right, OK?"

After a final suspicious look towards Draco, George hurries down the hall after his brother. I let out a deep breath and turn to look at Draco. The almost panicked urgency is gone, and he is only lapping at my hand now. Soon he stops altogether and opens his eyes to look at me. I withdraw my hand as I watch his consciousness slowly return. He blinks a few times until the vague expression disappears from his eyes. "What happened?" he asks, voice trembling slightly.

I smile softly. "Apparently Fred ate some Nosebleed Nougat, god knows why, and well... I guess you were caught off guard."

"Oh god..." Horror washes over Draco's face as he processes the information. "Is Fred all right?" He jumps to his feet, already hurrying towards the door.

"Wait!" I exclaim, stumbling to my feet as well. "I'll come with you. You know... just in case." I try to smile encouragingly. It does not seem to work, Draco still looks as panicked as ever. Walking towards Draco I throw my arms around his shoulders and stand on my toes to kiss him lightly. "It'll be all right." I convince him, grabbing his hand and dragging him down the hall after the twins.

We find them in their shared bedroom. Fred is sitting on the bed without a shirt on, looking pretty shuck. George stands beside him, handing him a wet towel. They both look utterly confused, but not as scared as I would have expected.

"Hi, Fred." I say cautiously, trying to find out what they're both thinking. "Are you all right?"

Fred looks cautiously at Draco for a moment, then nods slowly. "I'm fine." I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding. I tug at Draco's arm and pull him past me. His face is cautious and embarrassed as he approaches the twins.

"I apologize." he murmurs, looking from Fred to George. "I shouldn't have let that happen. I should've known better. I-" He sighs deeply. "I'm sorry."

The apology is stiff and impersonal, done by someone who is not used to saying they're sorry for anything. But the twins don't seem to mind. They stare at Draco in silence for a moment before they both break out in their usual mischievous smiles.

"It's OK." Fred says, standing up from the bed and patting Draco on the shoulder. "You just frightened me a little, that's all." Draco looks uncomfortable by the familiarity of the gesture, but smiles gratefully nonetheless.

"Yeah," George continues, also smiling at Draco. "We should've known better, too. I mean, Nosebleed Nougat near a vampire, _please_. A Dursley could have figured that out!" The twins laugh.

"We forgive you, mate." Fred grins, and Draco looks like a heavy burden just fell off his shoulders. I cannot but wonder when these three have gotten so close that Draco actually cares what the twins think of him. Relieved, I smile to myself and turn to leave the three of them to work things out.


	21. The Approaching Curve

"We forgive you, mate." Fred grins at me, and I feel enormous relief. Merlin knows why I seek acceptance from these people, they're Weasleys for fucks sake! My ancestors are turning in their graves as I smile back at the red haired twins.

I hear Potter move towards the door behind me, but by the time I have turned around he is already gone. Turning back towards the twins, I furrow my brow at their shared grins. "What?"

"Nothing." says Fred, his grin widening further. "You're pretty good friends with Harry nowadays, it seems." George's grin matches his brother's.

"Not particularly, no." I lie through my teeth, raising an unamused eyebrow at the grinning morons. "Is there something wrong with your faces?"

If possible, their smiles only widen. George chuckles. "Oh, nothing at all. We-"

"-feel positively peachy." Fred finishes.

"You two are truly frightening human beings." I mutter. The twins laugh.

"Oh, don't pretend you don't like us." Fred teases as he walks over to the closet and pulls on a fresh shirt. "No Malfoy would voluntarily spend time with a Weasley otherwise."

I prefer not to answer the insult, mainly because it's completely accurate. I can only keep to sneering dryly. George on the other hand seems very interested in continuing the subject. "Yes, my dear brother, you have a very good point." He then turns to me. "But I was under the impression that apart from Weasleys, Malfoys are also supposed to hate all kinds of boy wonders and general heroes on the light side. Isn't that so?" George widens his eyes to make himself look unnaturally naive and innocent.

I do not like where this is going.

"Oh yes, George. That is infact true." Fred declares overly theatrically. "But then-" he turns to me dramatically. "You must not be a true Malfoy."

"Yes," George agrees, his wicked grin back in place. "For did we not see Harry holding your hand just now, before your dramatic apology?"

_Fuck. _

"Highly doubtful." I drawl dryly, in a feeble attempt to deny it. How could I be so stupid as to not react to the fact that Potter was _holding my fucking hand_ in front of the Weasleys?! No wonder the twins were looking at me weirdly when Potter and I entered the room. And here I thought it was because of the attack. Apparently I am not as scary as I thought. Damn.

The twins grin at me for a long moment, obviously not buying my lie. "Whatever you say, mate." Fred chuckles, looking at his brother.

"Yeah," George sneers wickedly. "We'll find out the truth sooner or later."

Unfortunately, I am quite positive that they will.

* * *

"Come on."

He leans over the back of my chair, breathing seductively into my ear. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I have work to do." I mutter, trying to keep my focus on the book in my lap. As if that was by any means possible with Potter's husky voice by my ear.

"You have a huge amount of inane work assinged to you by none other than yourself. Now I order you to take a break." Potter reaches over and twists the book from my grip, pulling it out of my reach. I twist in my seat to face him.

"What is it that you want?"

A clearly practiced pout graces Potter features. "I want you to tell me what's bugging you."

I sigh. "It's just the twins. Nothing for you to be concerned about." _Yet._

"The twins?" Potter sounds suddenly concerned. "They're not still weird about the... _incident_, right?" He meets my gaze gravely.

Another deep sigh escapes me. "No, it's nothing like that. It's just that..." I take a deep breath, pondering on how to present the issue at hand. "They're just being a little nosy, that's all. About us, I mean."

"What do you mean?"

A crease forms between Potter's brows. I curse inwardly. I knew I shouldn't have told him. Potter overreacting always leads to certain disaster. "It's nothing, really. They just hinted on certain things a few days ago." I mutter nonchalantly, looking around to find another book to disappear into.

"What things?" Potter asks gravely, taking a seat on the armhold of my chair. I lean back into the opposing arm hold to face him.

"Nothing much, just how it is somewhat weird for a Malfoy to be holding hands with Harry Potter." I drawl, raising a meaningful eyebrow at the raven haired boy. Clueless as he is, he ponders on the matter for a moment before realisation dawns on him.

"When have we- OOH!" he exclaims, his eyes widening comically. "Shit!"

"My sentiments exactly." I mutter. _Though my sentiments would be less plebeian_. Potter rubs his neck absentmindedly, as if the source of his limited intelligence lies there. "What should we do?"

This was exactly what I feared. "Absolutely nothing." I state, scoffing at his doubtful expression. "They suspect nothing even remotely close to the truth. Mostly they just want to get me to admit that I like you. You know: _like_, as in a totally platonic way. Therefore we will lie low, giving them no further reason to suspect anything."

Potter seems to consider my words for a minute before a grin spreads on his face. " 'Giving them no further reason to suspect anything'? Would the two of us sharing a chair count as such an act?" He grins wickedly, leaning closer to me, laughter in his eyes as always when I contradict myself.

I sneer. "If you wish to leave, be my guest." I murmur huskily, my tone of voice giving no indication to the fact that I would like for him to leave. Not that Potter takes any notice of my words, anyway. He leans ever closer, his face only inches from mine as he whispers: "It's been a week since you fed, right?" As if he would have to ask. He knows exactly how many days it's been. He always does.

I refrain from answering and instead claim his lips in a fierce kiss. His hand reaches out and entangles itself in my hair, tugging my head backwards as he climbs into my lap. Potter's other hand caresses my chest, seductively unbuttoning the buttons on my shirt. My hands reach out and we break the kiss for as long it takes for me to tug his over-sized T-shirt over his head. Shirtless, he now straddles my legs properly, claiming my mouth anew. I draw my hands over his naked upper arms and back as the kiss intensifies, my nails leaving long red lines in their wake.

Out of breath and trembling from anticipation, I feel the shivers travelling down Potter's spine as my hands reach the small of his back. He breaks away, panting lightly, husky eyes smiling down at me. He runs a hot hand up my stomach, butterflies forming under his grace. The hand reaches my face, and lightly caressing my cheek Potter runs his thumb over my upper lip and kisses me with a light smile. As he breaks away for the second time, I feel my fangs erupt. I can hear the beat of Potter's blood racing through his veins at a furious speed, but he keeps smiling at me. Still keeping my face still with his hand, he leans closer, offering me the side of his throat. "Take me." he whispers, the end of the sentence breaking into a gasp as I bite down.

The glory of this moment never fails to amaze me. The mixed sensation of the metallic liquid filling my mouth and Potter panting in my ear, his fingers digging into my shoulders desperately, never ceases to enthral me. His heart beats furiously against my chest. I feel it to the core of my being, beating into my soul the rhythm of Potter's breathing, the incoherent words spilling from his lips. As my frenzy for his blood starts to take off, Potter's sensation seems only to intensify. When I start lapping at the wound I have left on his smooth neck, his whole body trembles from pleasure.

As soon as I pull away from his neck he crushes his face to mine, ravaging my mouth as his skilled fingers start to unzip my trousers. Our attempt to rid both of us of our trousers in the small chair turns out to be quite feeble. I have never been a patient person. I roll down onto the floor, pulling Potter with me. His protests are soon silenced by my mouth as I pull off my trousers and straddle him.

I pull away to start unbuckling his belt, watching in awe as he stretches out in front of me, his olive skin striking against the stone floor, glistening from the warm light of the fire. I prepare him quickly, and he gasps breathlessly when I enter him. The stone grinding almost painfully into my knee caps, I move in him slowly, the fire flickering beside us. He moans loudly, incoherent sentences escaping him as he reaches out on the floor for something to hold on to. Finding only hard, cold stone, he settles for digging his hands into my back.

"God... Ooh... fuck! ..Draco!" he pants, eyes closed and breathing irregularly. His heart is beating louder than ever, somehow anchoring my body to his. Entwining our souls into one being, our heat like the fire beside us. In this ecstatic, frenzied moment neither of us hold on for long, and soon we are pushed over the edge simultaneously; him crying out loudly, me repeating his name as I pump into him furiously.

As we lie on the floor afterwards, I find my greatest pleasure in listening to his irregular breathing evening out. "Wow." he utters when the words finally find him again. "I guess this qualifies as one of those things that would give the twins further reason for suspicion?"

I prepare a biting comment to his insolent comment, but my mouth refuses to form the words. I can only scoff noncomically. Though I can't stop the malicious smile that spreads on my face as I imagine the twins' faces were they ever to stumble upon an incident such as this. It would be quite a comical scene.

Then again, perhaps not.

* * *

Another useless meeting. I sit for hours at end at the end of that dreaded table, listening to members of the Order repeating the same inane observations of this war as always. There are never any changes, never any valid information. Everything told just keeps coming back to the fact that the war is acceleratingly getting worse. Fast.

What do they expect from us? Locked here behind these walls for all this time, how are we to understand the horrors of Muggle-born and 'blood-traitorous' wizards and witches, going into hiding just so they won't become the next victims of rampaging Death Eaters? We have not seen Hogwarts slowly emptying from students, nor Hogsmeade closing up its shops for an indefinite amount of time.

We do not understand this. What do they expect us to do?

But of course, there is one of us who does understand. I watch Draco's stone-like face as he listens to the horrors Kingsley and Dumbledore describe. For he has been there. He has seen it.

No, _worse_. He has grown up within this corruption. Rather than being a victim, he has been the inflictor. And now that he is the victim himself, we won't accept him. The Aurors, the Weasleys, even Dumbledore sometimes, look at him as if he were the villain here. As if he could help being born a Malfoy. As if he didn't chose us over them already.

But they do not see what I see. They do not see his face now carved in stone, not from indifference and malice, but from concealed pain and ache. They have never watched his mask fall, his walls crumble down from sheer desperation. They never have to witness him trying to rebuild those same walls each day.

Of course, I too have a rare privilege to see those things. It is not often that I manage to see a crack in that perfect Malfoy-armour of his. When that happens, he conceals the failure so quickly, so thoroughly that by dawn no traces of his scars are visible. It is as if I had imagined the whole thing. Much like our relationship, the human part of Draco seems to be something only for private eyes, something shameful to hide from the rest of the world. But much like our relationship, I have a hard time understanding why it must be kept hidden. I can't help but dream that if we were to be pulled out of this secrecy, than maybe I wouldn't have to work so hard to make him show me the true him. To make him happy.

But he would never let this become known. Even now, like a hawk he watches me from the other end of the table. Looking after me, protecting me. Even from himself.

Sometimes I wonder if my fate truly is to die in this war. Maybe he knows it. Perhaps that is why he is so protective of me, always shielding me from others and himself. Perhaps he knows that us being together will only hurt us both in the end.

But if that is how it is, than I will not give this up. I will live the last while of my life fully. Perhaps I truly will have to die and leave Draco behind. But until that time, I will remain selfish and keep him by my side. For he will live on for a thousand years, and he will forget me in two.

I only realise that I am frowning when Draco meets my gaze with a concerned gaze. I hurry to smile back reassuringly, and while still looking doubtful, Draco turns back to listen to Dumbledore.

Yes. I keep on smiling. For there is nothing to grieve about. What is my suffering compared to that of those tortured Muggles? What are my tears to those of people losing their families in this war?

What is the loss of my life if it can save theirs?

* * *

"Draco. Draco?"

I turn my attention back to Dumbledore, trying to avert my thoughts from Potter. Why does he wear that face again? It makes me feel so uneasy, so desperate when I see his features twisted in sadness. He will never tell me what it is. Because I already know. He hates the secrecy, the lies he has to tell to keep our relationship unknown. Time and time again I have to remind him that it is essential to the outcome of this war.

But he does not understand. He did not grow up in this homophobic community, hating anything slightly differing from the normal. In a world relying completely on age old tradition, different has in time become dangerous. Even for the Golden Boy, coming out would have serious consequences.

"Draco?!"

Dumbledore wakes me from my thoughts again. I wonder when it has become this hard for me to remain concentrated.

"Yes?" I answer politely, in no way expressing my embarrassment for being caught spacing out staring at Potter. Dumbledore smiles at me warmly. Too warmly. No one smiles at a Malfoy sincerely.

"Have you found anything new through your research?" the old coot asks, sipping his tea. I sigh. This is the moment I have feared. The moment where I have to admit to all of the Order members and myself that nothing of particular use can be found in the Black library. And the consequences of that.

"No. Nothing." I admit gravely, keeping my face in check and bracing myself for what I will have to say next. "I think I might have to research the library at the Manor."

"_Malfoy_ Manor?" Mrs Weasley asks incredulously. Fool. Of course Malfoy Manor. If there is one library better than that of the Black family, it is the Malfoy one.

"Yes." I have dreaded this. This horrendous instant where I have to volunteer to go back to that place. That place of my ancestors, of my family, of all that I've now turned my back on.

Dumbledore smiles as widely as never, but everyone else look quite sceptical. They fear that letting me out of their sight will cause me to run to the Dark Lord and rat them out. I can't exactly blame them.

Potter looks at me with a worried frown. I hurry to turn my gaze away from him. Thinking about him right now will only make this worse. "I think there will be more useful material there."

"That is probably true." Dumbledore agrees. "But I cannot agree to be opening the Floo here all the time. It is far too risky." A knot forms in my stomach at the words. Not that I hadn't expected them. I had only hoped-

Only hoped.

"I understand that completely." I agree in what I find is a very small voice. Coughing once I reattain my usual cold vocals. "I was thinking about going there for maybe three or four days? Then I would spend a couple days here before returning there if needed." A shiver runs down my spine at the thought of staying in that massive house alone for three days. I suppress the desire to scream.

"That s probably a good idea." the Headmaster nods thoughtfully. "The arrangement would of course require that you stay hidden in the Manor as well. We cannot let you be seen. It would raise too many questions."

"Of course. It would by no means cross my mind." I state, and imagine I can see the heavy burden fall of the shoulders of several Order members. It will be easier for them to supervise that I don't have any suspicious interactions with anyone if I am only allowed to stay inside the estate borders.

"Would you like to leave immediately?" Dumbledore asks, and my silent heart freezes in my chest. "I could open the Floo 'til tomorrow morning, and you could return on Friday?" I breathe out. So he didn't mean _immediately_ immediately.

"That will be just fine." I agree. My eyes then flicker towards Potter, who stares at me sadly, unshed tears in his eyes. I marvel at his stupidity to always wear his heart on his sleeve. He seems to recognise my irritation and blinks frantically to rid his eyes of the fluid. I turn my gaze away, rising from my seat. I can't stay and deal with Potter right now. "If you excuse me, I think I will go and plan for tomorrow. I'll leave you to enjoy your meal."

I leave the room just as Mrs Weasley brings in the chicken soup.

* * *

"Draco!"

I don't even make it to my room before he shouts after me. I turn around slowly in the shadowy hall. "Yes?"

Potter stares at me in the shallow light of the rays the setting July sun is letting through the window. His jaw is tight and his eyes are blazing, but I do not know if he is angry with me or just feels sorry for me. I don't know which I detest more.

"Why must you go there?" He approaches me slowly, carefully taking my hand in both of his. I realise that he detests the image of that house almost as much as I do. But naive as he is, Potter still seems to think one can only do the things one wants to.

I clench my jaw. "Because I have to. I do no good here." I declare, pulling my hand from his grasp as I enter the familiarity of my room. "Why is it such a big deal, anyway? It's not like I'm leaving you."

Potter lets go of my hand reluctantly, a pained expression on his face. "Are you sure?"

Unable to look at him, I turn to face the window. No, I'm not sure. How can I be sure about anything right now? I'm not sure that I won't be leaving him after this is over. I'm not sure that he won't be leaving me.

Because that's just it. The reason I fear that house, that realm of my past so much. I fear that it will change me back, make me again who I once was. Who I was supposed to be.

"I'm not sure about anything anymore."


	22. Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down

"I'm not sure about anything anymore." he croaks, staring out though the window into the light summer night. I sigh, marvelling at the fact that such seemingly small things can break us. Walking up to him, I lean against his back and wrap my arms around his chest, burying my head into his neck. He sighs deeply and relaxes back against me, remaining silent.

I don't know what to say either. What can I say?

I don't know why he fears going back to his home so much. As much as I have knowledge of the matter, Draco seems to have had a perspectively happy childhood. What has changed so?

And suddenly I realise, it's _Malfoy_.

During his time here, he has just been 'Draco'. Draco who is nice and sweet and funny, at least to those closest to him. And now, he has to go back to Malfoy Manor and become a Malfoy again. True Malfoys do not follow Dumbledore and the Light. True Malfoys do not mingle with half-bloods or Wealseys. True Malfoys do not sleep with Harry Potter.

_True Malfoys are not vampires._

Most times I have managed to separate my thoughts of Draco with those of that ominous name. But once in a while, in times like these, I have a hard time distinguishing the difference. For with all the lies that I may be telling myself, that name still is, and perhaps will always be, a part of Draco.

His childhood, being raised as the perfect little Malfoy heir, I now realise will follow him throughout life.

Like our inheritage, our origin, our values will never be quite alike. Even though his family might no longer recognize him as their kin, even if I were able to completely overlook his past, there will always be a void to separate us.

His name.

He fears, as much as I do, perhaps even more, that that house will change him. Who am I to say it won't? Who is he to promise it won't?

"I'll miss you." I whisper against his back. That is the only thing I can say. The only certain truth. I will miss him when he goes. And I will miss him if he leaves me.

He turns around, looking down at me seriously. "I know."

They are not words confessing affection or love. And yet I love him the more for it.

* * *

I kiss him softly on the forehead, and he murmurs something in his sleep. It feels almost heartbreakingly intimate. I hurry to leave the room before he wakes and stops me. Because in this instant I'm certain he could.

I hurry to my room, where I quickly grab the notes I have made from texts I've found in the Black library. Walking back downstairs and to the drawing room, I can't but cast a longing glance to the North Wing. Hoping that he would be here to stop me. Breaking my heart with my own foolish illusions when, of course, he is not.

Dumbledore turns to me from where he has been studying the family tree, smiling encouragingly. "Are you ready, Draco?"

I nod stiffly. "Yes, sir. The Floo is open, I take it?"

The Headmaster smiles. "Indeed it is. I will close it within a minute after your departure, and it will be opened again the 6th of July, at 5pm. You'd better be on time, it will only stay open for three minutes."

I hurriedly thank the Headmaster and reach for the jar of Floo-powder. Taking a deep breath, embracing myself for what is to come, I step into the green flames.

* * *

The drawing room is as I last left it. The house elves have cleaned away the cups and the tea pot, but the air feels just the same. I half expect to see Mother's reflection behind me in one of the mirrors on the East wall. In a hurry I exit the room and close the doors behind me.

I listen quietly for presences in the house besides my own, but the only living beings here seem to be the house elves. The spells on the house tell me of no intruder, and I breathe out.

So I am alone. Good. Now I just have to remain sane.

I cross the hall to the library immediately, determined to find something useful as soon as possible so that I can get the hell out of here.

As a child I always feared this room, almost as much as I feared Father's study. The magnificent, beautifully decorated thick wooden doors, the high roof, the tiny windows with the curtains drawn. The dark crooks and corners of the room, stocked with books of all shapes and sizes. The screaming silence, punctuated only by my steps echoing on the stone floor.

Even now, grown up and faced with so many things worse than a silly library, it is still not a pleasant place. It is beautiful and majestic, but cold and eerie compared to the one at the old Black House. I hurry to search through all the hidden corners of the room, just to make sure that there are no unpleasant surprised waiting for me. Granted, unpleasantries are not uncommon in this house. But I truly do hate surprises.

After finding nothing too disturbing, I seat myself in a hidden corner by a small window, a place where no one can sneak up on me from behind. The passage between the shelves to my sanctuary is small enough so that most people would pass by it without even noticing it. I quickly gather an armful of books and seat myself in my chair. With my back against the wall, I feel even remotely safe for the first time in this room.

Night dawns. Not that it matters. Without Potter, it's not like I could sleep anyway. At least not here. It's better to just stay busy. Incredulously, I go through the circumstances that I know yet again.

_Number 1. -The Dark Lord did not die when the Killing Curse jumped off Potter and hit him. Why?_

_Number 2. -Can I truly buy this crap that it was Potter's mother's love that saved him that time?_

_Number 3. -Potter has to kill the Dark Lord. Horrible, yes. Unfortunate, yes. Hence, we will ignore this note for as long as we can. _

_Number 4. -If not even that old fool Dumbledore can off the Dark Lord, how is Potter supposed to do it? What does he have that Dumbledore hasn't?_

Reading book through book I ask myself that question. What does Potter have that Dumbledore hasn't? What is Potter's weapon? A weapon that not even he himself is aware of?

The days crawl by. Soon I will have to leave empty handed yet again, forced to return here in three days time. I plunge my mind frantically around the issue, cursing the hours slipping past, the countdown to my doom. In the morning of July the 5th, I still have not found anything. Powerful spells, yes. Hundreds of dark curses, yes. But what spell is more powerful and dark than Avada Kedavra? I grip the bridge of my nose as I walk back and forth over the floor, thinking desperately. What am I missing?

Dumbledore is the most brilliant wizard in a century. (If one chooses to believe such things about the old coot.) Potter on the other hand is a sixteen year-old foolish whelp. How could he possibly beat the most powerful dark wizard of all times? He has no special talents, except Quidditch. He isn't even an Animorphagus! He is not particularly skilled in spells or charms, he can barely wave a wand better than the Weasel...!

I stop in my tracks and drop the book I am holding. Potter's _wand_!

Father once told me that during the battle in Little Hangleton during the Triwizard Tournament, the Dark Lord could not kill Potter because their wands connected in some way. 'Twin-core wands' what is I think that he called the phenomenon.

_Why didn't I think about this before?_ I curse myself as I eye through the book shelf, searching for-

"Ah-haa!" I exclaim out loud as I find what I am looking for, grabbing "Connections of the Wand" and dragging the heavy book with me to my seat. Shuffling through the pages, I feel incredibly stupid for not realising this earlier.

I finally find the chapter of twin-core wands, _Priori Incantatem_. The book calls it an "extension to the spell _Prior Incantato_", a spell which causes the targeted wand to recall its last spells. Reading on, I realise that Priori Incantatem is exactly the phenomenon Father described.

_Priori Incantatem is called "the reverse-spell effect". It happens during a wand combat, when a simultaneous spell-casting by two parties triggers an effect where both wands become linked through a golden thread of energy. The two wand holders then compete in a battle of wills, in which the loser's wand is forced to display in ghostly form the spells which had been cast by the aforesaid wand. It occurs only when two wands which share the same source of their cores are forced to duel. _

_Twin-core wands_. So Potter and the Dark Lord have the same core to their wands. I suppress the will to cheer. Finally, I have found something useful! Nearly ecstatic, I read forward, searching for charms connected to this spell. There are but a few, most of them are only different versions and extensions of _Prior Incantato_. But just as my hope starts to flail, there is one that catches my eye.

"_Contandem Recolo_" I read half aloud to myself. The name itself has the distinctions of a dark curse, but luckily I am not one to dismiss it only based on that. I read forth.

_The Contandem Recolo is a rarely used spell, invented in 1012 by Count Mauriz Grim, a wealthy wizard in the Sweden of that time. One night a burglar entered his house and he caught the man, but found he couldn't capture him because their simultaneously cast spells triggered Priori Incantetem. When the spell finally broke, the burglar fled. _

_Count Grim became very frightened of the occurrence, and in time grew paranoid that the thief would return. Afraid that if such an event would occur he would not be able to defend himself, Count Grim set his mind on creating a spell that if used in a situation of Priori Incantatem, would cause the opponent's spell to reverse and blast back upon it's caster._

_Mauriz Grim created the spell and set out to find the man with his wand's brother. After searching for several years, Count Grim finally found the burglar. The thief attempted to cast a simple Stunning Charm on Grim, and as Count Grim now made use of his new spell, something unexpected happened. _

_Instead of reflecting the thief's Stunning Charm back at it's caster like intended, or simply forming a golden thread of energy like during Priori Incantatem, the spells met with a crash mid air and the energy blasted back upon both Grim and his opponent. Stunned and unconscious, they fell to the ground and awoke no more in this life. That, incidentally, had little to do with the spell and more to do with the fact that lying unconscious in the middle of a street, they were both robbed and killed._

_Mauriz Grim was only a mediocre magician, but he did succeed in creating a very powerful spell. Of course, it didn't work as he had planned because he had no opportunity to test it, but the spell can be very useful if used right._

_Contandem Recolo only works between duelers with twin-core wands. It has the effect that whichever spell your opponent casts at you, if met with Contandem Recolo, will blast back at it's caster with both his own magical energy and yours. _

_The downside is of course that it will either way hit you._

Somehow, I do not find the book's sarcasm particularly amusing.

Of course it would work. That much is obvious to me even now. The Dark Lord would cast the Killing Curse, and Potter would answer with _Contandem Recolo. _The spell would blast back to the Dark Lord with double its original force, and he would fall. Not even the Dark Lord could survive that amount of magic. The wizarding world would celebrate, and Potter would be called a hero for all eternity because he sacrificed himself for the cause.

I feel as if someone just poured a gallon of iced water over me. For all this time I have been conscious of the fact that Potter most likely will not survive to see the end of this war. But to see it written down like this, to be expected to hand him his death sentence...

Because that's just what this is. A clear way to defeat the Dark Lord. A death sentence for Harry Potter.

* * *

There is nothing more. Nothing more about _Priori Incantatem_. Nothing about Twin-core wands. Nothing.

When the clock strikes 4:30pm, I find myself on my knees in the middle of the floor, and I realise I have failed. I feel tears of desperation and hysteria burning behind my eyes, but despite them I cannot cry. Malfoys do not cry.

Feeling my last shreds of hope jerked out from under me, I put the books back into their places and drag my feet towards the drawing room. I keep only "Connections of the Wand", which I shrink and put into my pocket, creating a glamour of the book in its place on the shelf. Just in case.

I stare with tears in my eyes at the ashes in the fireplace as the five strikes of the clock sound through the room. I blink my feelings away and light the fire, stepping into the flames and throwing the Floo powder to my feet.

* * *

For three days I stroll around Grimmauld Place. Searching for something to do. Searching for a purpose. Seeking _him_. Looking for any traces of him; a mirthless laugh, an insulted Weasley.

Nothing. It feels as if he has disappeared from the face of the earth.

He has taken nothing from his room. Why would he, he is home now. He needs nothing from here that he hasn't got there. I lie on his bed, counting the minutes to his arrival as I stare up at the cracked ceiling. Reading the patterns which I've learned by heart in all the time I've spent on these sheets.

I wonder where everyone else is at. I've never heard the house this unnaturally quiet. But I guess it's the fact that Draco's room is on the third floor that makes the difference, the noises from the twins' experiments and Ron and Hermione arguing don't reach this far.

There is only silence. An empty, expectant silence that seems only to be waiting for something bad to happen. It's eerie.

As I finally leave Draco's room to go meet him when he arrives, I bump into the twins on the second floor. They look at me surprisedly, then cast a glance at the stairs from which I've just descended. I smile at them feebly and continue hurriedly past them, before they have time to ask me what business I could possibly have in the 3d story of the West Wing.

I cast tempus as I hurry down the stairs, and realise the clock has already struck five. Practically flying across the entrance hall, I enter the drawing room just in time to see Draco enter through green flames. I stop in the doorway, staring at the blonde before me.

Draco looks tired and ragged, dark bruises flawing the undersides of his eyes. He brushes off the soot from his clothes, and it seems to take a minute before he even notices me. I cannot but feel slightly hurt; here I've been, counting every minute we've been apart, and he doesn't even bother to recognize my presence?

The tears I've been holding back for days threaten to spill over, just when he lifts his face to look at me. He stares at me for a minute, looking much like he's seen a ghost or a phantom from a dream. "Harry," he croaks weakly, and the next thing I know I have my arms around his neck and I am kissing my name from his lips.

He answers just as desperately, claiming my lips forcefully as he pushes me back against the wall. I suddenly find myself with my back against the family portrait, and can but fight the urge to laugh at what Sirius would say of this if he'd known. Thoughts of laughing disappear immediately thought when Draco starts tugging at my clothes. He breaks the kiss to draw in a deep breath by my throat, nuzzling my ear. "I've missed you." he murmurs huskily, slipping his hands under my sweater as I weave my fingers into his hair.

"Draco!" I can but moan, my hands roaming over his body, grabbing for anything, everything. God, how I've missed his body, his scent, his presence. I am just starting to tug up the hem of shirt when I hear a slight creaking of the door. In the same instant Draco's body stiffens, and he jerks his face away from mine. We turn around to find two very surprised looking Weasleys staring at us from the doorway.

"Uhm..." Fred utters, slowly taking in the scene of Draco snogging me senseless against the drawing room wall. At the same time Draco seems to become aware of our compromising position, and pulls away immediately, straightening his clothes and coughing slightly.

"We- uhm..." George repeats his brother's sentiment, looking slightly less surprised and slightly more amused than Fred. I try to take advantage of their bemused silence, but I suddenly find my mouth very dry and can only come forth with single syllables.

"We.. uhm... you- uh... this 'sn't..." I stagger, biting my lower lip furiously. As I look to Draco for support, I find him looking only very grim and slightly bored.

"Can't any one of you form an actual sentence?" he asks incredulously, raising a mocking eyebrow at the three of us. I marvel at his ability to turn even this situation around for his own benefit. I swallow loudly and clear my throat to regain my ability to speak coherently. Though of course, Draco would say I never had one.

"Fred, George... We... I know that this is probably quite... _surprising_, but we would really appreciate it if-" I begin weakly, but a loud chuckle from the twins cuts me off.

"Surprising?!" George repeats with wide eyes and a mock serious face. "Surely not! Why would you think that this is _surprising_ in any way?"

His brother catches on. "Yes, you foolish boy! How could finding a Malfoy snogging the breath out of Harry Potter against a bleedin' wall be in any sense _surprising_?!"

I see Draco's temper starting to boil at the twins' jokes already, but I myself am only happy that they are joking instead of running off writing letters to Rita Skeeter. The twins study us in silence for a minute, and after a while it starts to feel somewhat unnerving. "What?" I finally ask, the intense staring getting on my nerves.

"Oh, nothing," Fred grins, staring from me to Draco mischievously. "How long has this been

going on for?"

I look to Draco, trying to get some hint as to what he wants to tell the twins. But he keeps his eyes fastened on the twins. "A while," is his vague answer. And I guess that is the proper answer, as it is all a matter of from where one counts.

"So..." George snickers, eying the two of us. "the Boy Who Lived and the son of the most notorious Death Eater ever. Where the bloody fuck is my popcorn?" The twins burst out laughing, and Draco snorts at them irritatedly. But I can see the relief on his features, for whatever reason he has come to like the twins and seems to care much for what they think.

"Oh, by the way, Harry," Fred grins, raising an amused eyebrow at me. "Your fly is open."


	23. Simplest Mistake

-1"It'll be all right." he tells me, kissing my neck as I pull on my trousers. "You saw the twins, they don't care!"

He thinks that I am still upset because of the twins. Of course I am, upset that we could be so stupid as to get caught. But that plays a very small part in my misery right now. I turn towards Harry and am met by brilliant eyes aflame in worry. I kiss him gently on the lips before pulling away. "I know."

A bright smile lights on his face, and he lies back down on the bed to watch me get dressed. "This has its silver lining, you know?" he smiles. I raise a questioning eyebrow at him. "We have at least two people to cover for us if needed, and I don't have to sneak past their room each night when I'm coming to your room."

"_'If needed'?" _I repeat, seething at him. "Do you plan on getting caught again?"

He snorts loudly and throws a pillow at me, which of course misses its target. I snicker. "Don't spend your whole day in bed." I holler at him as I exit through the door. _Yes, don't spend your whole day in bed. You don't have too many left._

I want to kick myself for thinking that thought. I cannot do this. I have to find another way. Who says I have to go to Dumbledore with my find? I can just tell them I haven't found anything and go back to the Manor to look for other options.

But... If I find nothing else, they will eventually send Harry out either way. And he will die. And the Dark Lord will not.

And we will all be doomed.

I sigh deeply as I walk the hall to the library. I silently ask myself why I am not spending what little time Harry has left with him. But I refuse to think like that. I cannot change my routines because of that spell. I refuse to acknowledge that it makes a difference. For if it changes something, then it is real. If it is real... Harry will die.

_Harry_. Not Potter anymore. One cannot possibly call a dying man by his last name.

* * *

For three days I wander the dark corridors of this house aimlessly, a thousand and none thoughts running through my head. One minute my mind is totally blank, and in the next I have so many thoughts I just want to scream. The minutes run by, and I sink deeper, deeper into this madness. Nowhere do I see a solution.

I cannot be near Harry. He has already noticed that something is wrong. He asks me about it, he yells, he pleads me to tell him. But what can I say? I hate him for dying.

During the night, I fall. I seek him out, push the hate somewhere when I cannot feel it, and love him until morning. But when the sun rises, and I see his pale face lying there beside me, all I see is death. All I see is the inevitable.

It is in one of these moments I realise that this can't go on.

I leave for the Manor again. On the fourth morning I wake and creep soundlessly through the house. In the drawing room, Dumbledore is already waiting for me. Like last time, he tells me of the time of day when I should return, and bids me farewell. Nothing is different. Yet, I feel as if he watches me conspicuously. As if he knows something is wrong.

As always, he probably does.

I hurry to enter the Floo before I have time to even consider telling Dumbledore about my findings. I doubt even he would jeopardize Harry's life like that, but... One can never be too careful. The green flames swallow me, and seconds later I find myself in the Malfoy library. I brush off the soot and am just about to put reach into my pocket and "Connections of the Wand" back in the shelf, when I realise I am not wearing the same robes as I did three days ago.

"Fuck!" I exclaim out loud, and kick the shelf in frustration. Why didn't I check to see that I had the book back with me? Now I can only hope no one finds it at number twelve.

I cast those worries aside and begin anew my quest for finding a spell against the Dark Lord. The next morning I seem to have gone through all the books specialized on curses, and can no longer find a single new spell. Whilst pacing back and forth in front of the fire, I suddenly realise that the library is not the only place with books in the Manor. With trepidation I make my way to Father's study, the perhaps most terrifying place in the whole house.

I reach the thick black door, and it opens with a creak under my hand. It opens to a large bright room, so familiar yet so strange to me. It feels almost humorous to find the room empty, without Father leering at me from behind his large oak desk. Still feeling cautious, I look over my shoulder as I turn towards the bookshelf covering the Eastern wall. Any Auror who came here would only see everyday literature such as "The Standard Book of Spells" or "Advanced Numerology". But as a Malfoy, as soon as I touch the shelf, the books reveal their true identity to me. I am just about to open "Secrets of the Darkest Art" when I suddenly get the feeling I am not alone.

Indeed, when I listen carefully, I can hear someone walking upon the marble floor in the great hall. Panic starts to rise within me as I hurriedly put the book back in its place and creep towards the shut door. I lean against it, ear to the wood, and hear a pair of steps climbing the stairs to the second story. When they finally speak, I feel my mouth fill with ash.

"Do not complain, Bella." Father's cold voice echoes against the stone walls. "It was perfectly right that you were punished. After all, what good does torturing Muggles do if you let them escape in the end?"

"I do not question _my_ punishment, Lucius!" I can hear my aunt's heels stomp furiously against the floor. "I question the lack of yours!"

"What are you insinuating?" My Father sounds irritated.

Bellatrix's mad laugh mauls my ears like knives. "You are a fool, Lucius. First your son disappears to Merlin knows where, and then you let your wife be taken away right under your nose! Why the Dark Lord has not punished you more gravely, I have no idea."

"Stay out of it, Bella!" I can hear Father grind his teeth while they reach the top of the stairs. "No one else noticed the Aurors entering the house, how could I have? To this day I cannot figure out how they got past the wards! And what becomes of Draco, I can not imagine where he has gone."

"Of course you can't." Bellatrix leers sarcastically. "But remember that our Lord is losing patience with you, it won't be long before-"

Their voices fade as they enter the library. As soon as I hear the doors shut behind them, I exit the study quietly and head for the other room that is closest: the drawing room. I sit down on the sofa, furiously trying to think of a way out of this.

It is only a matter of time before they realise I am here. And I cannot Floo back to the head quarters for two more days. I draw a deep breath. There is only one thing I can do. If I cannot hide from them, I have to _let_ them find me. As inconspicuously as possible.

I call for Tilby the house-elf, and luckily she appears before me within a minute.

"Mr Draco called, sir." she says, her large eyes larger than usual. "Tilby did not know you were back home, sir."

I sigh at the nosy elf. "Yes, yes, Tilby, that is irrelevant. Bring me today's _Daily Prophet,_ will you?"

"Yes, sir. Tilby will bring it right away, sir." With those words, the house-elf disappears. I rise to light the fire in the fire place, and as soon as I am done Tilby has re-appeared with the paper on a tray.

"Thank you, Tilby. You may leave now." I mutter, walking past the elf to the double doors and opening both of them widely. Then I return to sit down upon the couch, and wait.

I do not need to wait long. Soon I hear the doors to the library open, and two pairs of shoes exiting the room. I pick up the _Daily Prophet_, and make a big fuzz of opening the paper so it will make as much noise as possible. I hear Father's footsteps slow down.

"Did you hear something?" he whispers to my aunt, who's steps have now also stopped.

"No, what is it?" she asks quietly.

"I'm not sure..." is the answer. I sigh and hurry to move the table with my foot, causing a loud screeching noise. It seems to do the trick. I no longer hear words, only slow approaching footsteps. I hide my face behind the _Daily Prophet_ just as my father and aunt reach the doors.

"Expelliarmus!" Father roars, and I feel my wand go flying from my pocket. Acting surprised, I take in a loud breath and look up from the paper.

"Father!" I exclaim, rising from my seat. "What are you doing here?"

"We could ask the same of you." Bellatrix answers before Lucius has the time to. The witch sneers at me suspiciously. "Where have you been?"

"It's a long story." I leer back at her before turning to my Father. "How long have you been staying here?"

"Since the end of March." Father answers cautiously. He looks like he's about to continue when Bellatrix cuts him off again.

"We have to take him to the Dark Lord, Lucius!" She hisses, still holding her wand pointed at me. "He could be a spy for Dumbledore!" While I snort incredulously at my aunt, Father nods and charms a rope to restrain my hands. I make no move to free myself, only raise an amused eyebrow at the ropes. Lucius watches me cautiously as he commands Bellatrix to pick up my wand from the floor. My aunt obeys, and soon I am being led down the stairs.

I curse myself for not having realised it earlier. Had not Mother told me Father had spoken to her via the Floo? One cannot Floo into Malfoy Manor unless the Lord of the Manor has opened the Floo Network, which I at that time had not. When the Floo Network is closed, Flooing is only possible within the Manor.

I want to kick myself. _The answer was right in front of me!_

As we descend the stairs all the way down to the basement, I realise I would probably have noticed the Death Eaters' presence had I entered the first floor the two last times I were here. But through the stone walls, I could not feel them all the way up to the second story. How ironic that my own home has ben harbouring the inner circle of the Dark for months, right under my nose. And now I am to be taken to them myself.

Lucius leads me down the stairs and into the dungeons. A large wooden door opens before me, a door I recognize as the one leading to what used to be my old study. Now a large table occupies one end of the room, at the end of which a very pale, snake-like man is sitting. He raises an eyebrow as we enter, a vicious smile spreading on his thin lips.

"Well, well, Lucius. What is this that you have brought for me?" Lord Voldemort enquirers, his voice sending shivers up my spine.

"Draco Malfoy, my Lord." Bellatrix interrupts Father, bowing for her master. "We found him in the- Aaagh!" Her words end in a scream as the Dark Lord raises his wand at her.

"We do not speak out of turn, do we Bella?" he asks sweetly after having lifted the curse. My aunt rises from the floor on shaking legs. "No, my Lord."

"Now," Voldemort continues, looking at me with interest. "Lucius, release your son."

"Yes, my Lord." Father bows, and with a swing of his wand my ties have disappeared. I let my hands fall to my sides and look directly at the Dark Lord.

"Where was it that you found him?" Voldemort asks Father, not taking his eyes off me.

"In the second floor drawing room, my Lord." Lucius states, looking from Voldemort to me with slight concern. For me or for his own skin, I do not know.

"Why did you not make your presence known, young Malfoy?" the Dark Lord enquirers, his red eyes seeming to pierce my soul. I take a deep breath and fight not to shudder from fear of this monster before me.

"I did not know there was anyone beside me in the house, my Lord. Had I known I would have been by your side immediately." The words leave my mouth so naturally I wonder if there is some truth in them. But as I let thoughts of Harry run through my mind, I find to my relief that there is not. In this moment I promise myself that whatever sacrifices I make, I make for Harry. I have to escape this, for Harry.

"So, Draco, tell me..." The Dark Lord smiles at me, thin lips curling around yellow teeth. I fight hard not to sneer back at him. "What have you been doing these past months? Your father has been awfully worried about you." He looks over to Lucius, still standing beside me. My father looks very calm, but I can hear the blood rushing through his veins at a furious speed.

Father is terrified.

Somehow the thought calms me, and I suddenly know exactly how I will be able to escape from this place. "I was in hiding, my Lord. I thought that much was obvious." I drawl.

Voldemort raises an eyebrow at my cheek. He turns to my father again. "Lucius, haven't you taught your son any manners? Punish him for his insolence!" The Dark Lord turns back to me, a vicious smile gracing his lips at the thought of teaching me a lesson. Lucius hesitates for a second before he lifts his wand. He takes a deep breath.

"_Crucio_!"

I feel the spell hit me, but instead of producing the desired effect it seems to bounce off me as water from a raincoat. I sneer at the Dark Lord, with mirth watching his smug face fall off as he realises what just happened. The dark wizard stares at me for a second before he turns back to Lucius in frustration.

"Can't you even produce a simple curse, you fool?" He leers as he draws his own wand, pointing it at me. "_Crucio_!"

Again, nothing happens. The Dark Lord furrows his brow, while Father and Bellatrix look positively terrified. I let a chuckle escape me, the sound echoing hollowly in the almost empty room. "There is no point. It will not work."

"What are you?" Voldemort asks calmly, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Looking at me as if I were some very fascinating new weapon. Which infact, I am.

My smile widens. "A vampire."

Tremor spreads through my father's body at my statement, and horror flickers over his face. Bellatrix in turn hisses at me viciously, much like a cornered cat at a snake. I leer at them and turn back to the Dark Lord, who is still observing me thoughtfully. Those red eyes pierce me like blades, and though I want to, I dare not look away.

"Why have you not made this known earlier?" he asks, eying me suspiciously. I force a vicious smile onto my face as I answer.

"I have been travelling. Quite afar, actually." I sneer. "I had to keep myself on the move all the time, so the Muggles wouldn't get too suspicious of all the peculiar deaths."

The Dark Lord raises his eyebrows, his mouth forming into a satisfied leer. "So you've been feeding off Muggles?"

I snort amusedly. "Of course. I couldn't very well hunt wizards when there are too many Muggles as it is."

The smile spreads over the Dark Lord's face. "Well, well, Draco. Who knew you would be such an asset to me?" He raises a pale eyebrow at me. "I assume that you have come to offer me your services?"

I smile mischievously, bowing deeply. "Of course. Anything for you, my Lord."

Oh, how easily it goes. One needs only to prove one's immense power and then proclaim eternal loyalty to him, and the Dark Lord will welcome you to his inner circle. _Just like that_.

He calls for his closest servants. They sneak into the room, one by one narrowing their eyes as they see me. Some, such as Nott Senior, leer at me viciously, probably thinking that they're going to witness the fabulous show of torturing Malfoy Junior.

Too bad for them.

"Friends!" Voldemort calls out as he steps into the circle formed by the Death Eaters. "I have the joy to announce a new member in our society." He gestures towards me, and I hear several questioning mumbles as I step forward. I ignore them and keep my attention focused on Voldemort.

The Dark Lord continues. "We have now amongst us our greatest weapon!" The confusion spreads within the hooded circle. I snort inwardly at the Dark Lord's antics, but play my part nonetheless. Baring my fangs, I leer at my audience. Shocked gasps echo in the room along with Voldemort's chilling laugh.

"So you see, my dear friends! What could Dumbledore, what could Harry Potter do when faced with a vampire?!" Half-heartedly the Death Eaters join in in the Dark Lord's enthusiasm, nervous chuckles escaping them as they watch me carefully. The only one not laughing is Lucius, who is staring at me with a furrowed brow. I decide to worry about him later, and turn back to observe Voldemort.

"Have we not waited so long to be rid of that brat Potter! Now, we have the perfect means!" the Dark Lord laughs madly, a pale skeleton-like finger pointing at me. "What better way to end the glory of Harry Potter, than to let his army of petty blood-traitors be destroyed by a vampire? _Lord Voldemort's vampire_!"

The Death Eaters roar, and I smile inwardly. This was easier than I could have ever predicted. As long as I can convince the Dark Lord that I am on his side, as long as he stays at the Manor, I can lead Dumbledore right to him. And maybe if we play on a home-field like this one, Harry won't have to fight.

_Harry won't have to die. _

* * *

"Where are you going?"

I turn around to find myself face to face with Lucius. He stares at me with narrowed eyes as he glances past me to the stairs.

I raise an eyebrow. "I am going to spend the night in my own room. I can't stay down here, you all smell like garlic after that dinner you had." I drawl, turning around to proceed to the stairs. I hard hand grabs my wrist and pulls me back.

"What are you up to, Draco?"

Suppressing the rising anxiety in my stomach, I snort at my sire. "What are you talking about?"

Lucius looks around us, confirming that no one else is close enough to hear us. He then turns to me, eying me suspiciously. "What have you been doing all these months?"

I raise an eyebrow at him. "Weren't you listening earlier? I was on the move all the time. Hunting."

Father sneers at me, leaning closer, hissing. "Then why didn't you come back when your mother was captured? One would think that would have lured you out of your hiding place."

I put on a mournful face, which isn't hard considering the topic. "I'm sorry Father, but what would it have helped Mother if I had revealed myself? The only thing I can do is to fight for our Lord, and a suicide mission such as rescuing Mother from Azkaban does nothing to help that." Putting on the most believable little Death Eater-face I can muster, I sigh somberly. "When our Lord rises again, Mother will be rescued, and our family will be rewarded for our loyalty."

Father nods slowly. "I am pleased to find you have finally taken your rightful place in our family." His words are pleasant, but I still sense suspicion behind them. Unable to do anything about it now, I nod curtly and turn towards the stairs.

"Good night, Father."

Father does not answer, and I do not expect him to. Walking in a leisurely pace, I make my way to the third story and my own bedroom. I close the door behind me and lie down upon the bed. As if I really could sleep.

I let out a tentative sigh, not quite sure if I should be panicked or celebrating. I did not find another spell. I found the Dark Lord. I found a way to lead the Order straight to him.

I found a way to save Harry.

Now, all I have to do is convince the Dark Lord to let me leave tomorrow. I will tell him I need to feed, and Floo to the Leaky Cauldron. From there, I will then Floo to Grimmauld Place. Dumbledore will then summon an emergency meeting, and a plan will be made. Then, after three or perhaps four days, I will return to the Manor. The Dark Lord will be pleased and have no reason to suspect anything. Should he suspect anything... Well, he cannot torture me, so how would he find out anything anyway?

Yes, this will work beautifully. As long as everything goes according to plan.

* * *

He left again. Not that I hadn't known he would, but I had hoped, wished foolishly.

Three days is not a long time. But it is hard to keep up the facade in front of everyone else, it's hard to pretend no to be worried. Because I am. Worried.

As I lie awake in the night, trying to sleep, my mind gets no rest. What if something happens to Draco? What if he, like everyone else I know, will get into danger because of me? What if something happens when he is away, and no one notices he is gone before it is too late?

I rise from my bed and walk as quietly as I can to Draco's room. Lying down on his bed, I stare up at that familiar ceiling, trying to imagine him next to me. It doesn't work. I reach for a pair of robes laying on the floor and pull them next to me in the bed, breathing in the scent of Draco. That at least makes things a little easier.

But as I hug the cloth close to me, I feel something hard dig in to my side. I reach for the pocket, and pull out what I find to be a miniature book. Why would Draco carry around something like that?

Curiosity getting the best of me, I reach for my glasses and my wand. I put on my glasses and point my wand at the book. "Engorgio!" The book enlarges to five times its original size, and I can finally read the worn out cover.

"Connections of the Wand" I read out loud, wondering silently what Draco was doing with such a book. This hardly has anything to do with defeating Voldemort. As I turn the book in my hands though, I notice a marked page. I open the book at the marked spot, dust and soot flying into my eyes from the pages. When I finally manage to stop coughing, I can read the small script.

_Contandem Recolo._


	24. The Boy Hero

I stumble out of the fire place into the drawing room at number twelve. To my surprise Dumbledore is already there waiting for him. I let out a loud breath of relief.

"Sir!" I breathe heavily, anxiety still in my throat. "The Dark Lord! He is at the Manor!"

Surprise spreads over the Headmaster's face, but he doesn't look quite as pleased as I had expected. "Voldemort is at Malfoy Manor?" he asks disbelievingly. His face turns very grave, and somehow he looks much older than the last time I saw him. For a moment he looks as if he is in another world, but finally his gaze focuses on me.

"Please, sit down, Draco. Tell me what you know." he gestures towards a chair, and takes a seat in another one himself. I take another deep breath before I begin my story.

"They have been hiding in the dungeons! I couldn't sense their presence because they were so far underground. But they found me, sir. My father and aunt did. They took me to Him."

Dumbledore's brows rise an inch. "You saw Voldemort?" he asks, looking puzzled. "How did you escape?"

I snort softly, my breathing slowly evening out. "I didn't, sir. I convinced the Dark Lord that I was on his side. He was very eager to have me, of course. Today I told him I had to feed, so of course he let me leave for that." I take in a deep breath before I finish. "I Flooed to the Leaky Cauldron before I Flooed here."

The Headmaster stares at me silently for a moment before he rises from his chair. "We must gather a meeting immediately. If you excuse me, I must contact a few people." Dumbledore strolls out of the room and disappears. I stare after him for a minute, silently wondering about the old wizard's peculiar behaviour. I've never seen him act quite so... off.

Then it suddenly strikes me that something else is wrong. Harry.

He is not here to greet me. In spite of myself, I feel worry gather within me.

_He knew I would return today. At this hour. Where is he? _

I exit the drawing room to begin my search for my lover, but find myself caught by Lupin and Mr Weasley.

"Draco!" Lupin exclaims as he sees me. "Albus told us about You-Know-Who. Is it really true?"

They both look at me with expectation and the air grows thick. As I nod curtly, their expression changes to a terrifying mixture of joy and horror. I can certainly relate to it.

"Merlin!" Mr Weasley exclaims, eyes growing wide. "I have to tell Molly!"

I am left standing with the werewolf in the hall as Mr Weasley runs off. Lupin looks after the red-head, sighing deeply. "It's starting, then."

**_________________________________________________________________**

"You-Know-Who is at Malfoy Manor?"

All eyes are on me, wide and horrified. The silence lays thick as a carpet as they wait for my response. I swallow once before answering.

"Yes."

The expected outrage begins. I look across the table to where Harry has taken a seat, but he refuses to look at me. He shudders slightly at the sound of the others arguing, but doesn't say a word. Even as the Weasel roars something inane to him, he only shrugs. An ill-boding feeling gathers in the pit of my stomach.

Dumbledore's voice carries over the mass. "Silence! Please."

Everyone takes their seats, casting concerned looks at each other. The Headmaster smiles. "This is an unexpected turn of events, yes. But it is a good thing; we now know where our enemy resides."

Many still look doubtful. Moody casts a vicious look my way before he turns to Dumbledore. "Are you quite positive He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is still there? What if this is just a trick? We might be set up for an ambush!"

"It's not a trick." I respond before Dumbledore has the time to. "The Dark Lord believes me to be on his side. He doesn't doubt me."

Moody narrows his eyes at me. "The 'Dark Lord', huh? What proof have we got that you are _not _on his side?"

With those words I rise from my seat. "You have no proof. Nothing beside what I have given you already!" I roar over the table at the ragged man. "Have I not done as much as all of you? Have I not sacrificed family and friends just as much as the next person?"

Moody swallows once and looks like he would like to retort, but remains silent. I take a calming breath and sit back down. "The Dark Lord suspects nothing. What reason would would he have to doubt me? I am a pure-blood, a Malfoy. A fucking _vampire_ in his service!"

Dumbledore puts a hand on my shoulder. "Language, Draco." He turns to the others. "If we plan this carefully, we might very well be able to defeat Voldemort once and for all." The Headmaster smiles calmly, looking over the gathering. "Time is of the essence. We need to inform any trustworthy Auror, we will need all the help we can get." He looks over to me again. "Draco will be able to get us into the house unnoticed, won't you?"

I take a shaky breath as I nod. "Yes. They didn't notice me and Kingsley when we were there interrogating Mother, they won't detect us this time either." I pause before I continue. "The Dark Lord gave me four days time before I have to return. We have to come up with a strategy until then. About when the attack will take place, who will take part in it, and so on."

An ominous silence lands upon the dining room. Everyone looks at each other with trepidation. The final battle has begun. If we lose this, we lose the war.

Suddenly Dumbledore coughs softly, gaining everyone's attention. "I have a further annunciation regarding our situation." The Headmaster stands up from his seat. I am immediately alarmed by his grave expression, so uncharacteristic for the silly old wizard. It seems everyone else notices this too, for the room grows quiet within seconds.

Dumbledore breathes deeply before he begins. "We have found a solution as how to kill Voldemort."

"_What_?" Mr Weasley exclaims, and pretty much everyone echoes his opinion in shock. I look over to Harry, but am not met by my confusion mirrored in his face as I had expected. He sits quietly, staring down at his lap, still refusing to meet my gaze. As Dumbledore proceeds his explanation, I turn my attention towards the end of the table, trying not to think of Harry.

"In desperate times we become in need of desperate means, and that is exactly what this is." the Headmaster announces. I feel myself and everyone around me go rigid, my whole body tensing up in apprehension of what sounds like a very ominous declaration.

"I time we have had to dismiss countless ideas of how to defeat Voldemort. Now, as we know his whereabouts and have him in our hands, we are running out of time. Thus, we have to make use of such a solution that pains me to the core." Dumbledore takes a deep breath and clenches his jaw as he continues. "There is a spell, a spell that makes use of the unusual connection between Voldemort and Harry."

I feel my blood run cold. _They cannot know. They can not_. Forcing myself to remain calm, I watch as everyone's attention is turned towards Harry, who still does not raise his gaze from his lap. The Headmaster continues:

"The spell is a mutation of _Priori Incantatem_, and makes use of the twin-core wands Harry and Voldemort possess."

And thus, my world scatters. My vision crows dim and Dumbledore's words start echoing in my head, while my own subconsciousness repeats those dreaded words again and again.

"_Contandem Recolo_." I croak, and every head turns towards me. I ignore it, for it is in this moment that Harry finally lifts his head to meet my gaze. I confront him silently, and his answer is right there before me. His eyes are glazed, but his jaw is set determinedly. He stares back at me with a mixture of sadness and spite. And I realise that he knows that I knew about the spell.

In sheen terror I can vaguely separate Dumbledore's voice from somewhere far away, muffled beneath the dizzy throbbing in my brain.

"...between duelers with twin-core wands..."

_This cannot be happening, I tell myself. How could they find it? _

" ...whichever spell your opponent casts..."

_This has to be some kind of practical joke, they can't be serious..._

"...will blast back..."

_They can't kill him._

"No!" I state, rising from my seat and growling. Not at Dumbledore, standing at the end of the table and looking rather as much surprised as everyone else. But at Harry, who is looking at me with a mournfully furrowed brow from across the table. "No." I tell him, positive that if I state my claim determined enough, he will obey me. That he will tell me he won't do it and I will laugh in relief and be mad at him for days for even considering this preposterous idea. But he doesn't, and I don't, and I am left standing here, staring at him in desperation.

"What's going on?" Lupin breaks the silence. I stare at him and the others in brief sympathy, for they have yet to become aware of the consequences of this horrible plot. Frantic, I turn to Dumbledore.

"You can't do this." I tell him, pleading for him to end this nightmare. But the Headmaster only shakes his head sadly.

"There is nothing else we can do, Draco. We're running out of time. If Harry is determined to do it, I cannot stop him. It was his idea."

_What? _I turn back towards Harry, who's eyes are now blazing more brilliantly green than ever, determination shining through his thick glasses. I shake my head slowly at him, silently pleading him to decline this farce. When he only keep staring at me silently, it hits me that this is real. He has decided.

"No!" I croak in disbelief, but as the word leaves my mouth I realise there is no other possibility. I look over at Harry, and to my desperation I see him lift a book onto the table from his lap.

Connections of the Wand.

I feel an icy hand wrap around my already dead heart, squeezing until I find it impossible to breathe. Struggling for breath, I suddenly become aware of all the confused and more or less horrified faces staring at my crumbling posture.

With tremor I look into Harry's eyes, and find him staring at me with disgust. Before I have time to utter a word, to offer an explanation, he has risen from his chair and made his way out though the door. In spite of the other confused Order members calling after us, I rush after Harry.

I catch him in the hall. Crushing into him I trap him between myself and the wall, arms on each side of his head.

"What the fuck do you think you are doing?" I roar at him. Harry returns my gaze with suppressed wrath.

"Let me go."

"No!" I scream, banging my hand into the wall so that I hear the wood creak. "Don't you understand that you won't survive it? You will not make one of your miraculous escapes this time!" I feel my voice break as I whisper:

"Harry, you _will_ die."

I try to meet his gaze, but he looks away, a guilty look on his face. "I have to do this. There's no other way."

"_I won't let you!_" Another time I hit my fist into the wall, and Harry jumps at the loud crack. He turns to me, resentment in his blazing green eyes.

"Who are you to tell me what to do? Who are you to pass judgment on me?" He sneers at me with disgust. "You didn't even bother telling me about the fucking spell!" He screams, his lower lip trembling and his whole body shaking.

"I didn't want this." My voice breaks at the words, and I don't know what else to say. What else _can_ I say?

Looking into Harry's eyes I realise that this is it. He has decided. He's remembered the halo on his head. It disgusts me. He is sick, holding onto that picture they have painted of him as their martyr. And still I know it's me who has been lying to myself, in my own way. Thinking I could save him from himself.

Young and hopeless, we're both lost.

"I didn't want this." I repeat desperately before crushing my lips to his. He startles for a second before lashing his arms around me, clawing at me with anguish. I feel tears, both mine and his, mingle in our kiss, and in this moment I just want to die. To disappear and never wake again into this reality.

"Harry?"

Reality calls too soon as Granger's voice carries through the room. I pull away from Harry and look behind me to see Granger standing in the doorway. Some part of my brain realises the horrifying situation, but somehow I fail to care. Somehow this becomes the last drop. In my dazed state I feel the vampire in my subconsciousness take over, and I gladly let myself slip under the power. Feeling my self-awareness sinking under a soft cloud, I realise as if I were only a spectator of this scene, that I am running. Where to I do not care, as long as I get away.

**­­­­­­­­­­­­­___________________________________________________________________**

"Harry?"

From somewhere far away I hear a voice that does not belong to Draco. As he pulls away I open my eyes to find Hermione behind Draco, Hermione staring at us with a mixture of shock and horrification. I look over to Draco, expecting him to trow a fit or play indifferent once again.

But he does nothing. He stares at Hermione for a long minute, eyes wide and shiny with tears. I suddenly realise that I have never seen him cry.

Then suddenly his face turns to stone and his gaze becomes unfocused. He seems to find his feet and within a second he has disappeared into the West corridor.

I watch the vampire blend into the darkness like a shadow, taking a few deep breaths before I turn towards Hermione. As I do, I realise that more people have filled the hall. Ron, Remus, Mr and Mrs Weasley, Tonks, Kingsley, they all walk past the immobilized Hermione, and for a moment I think they all _saw_. But as Ron pulls me to him and starts crying, as everyone's voices blend together in a horrified mix of wails, I breathe out.

_They do not know._

As it then dawns on me why they are all crying, I almost want to laugh. Here I am, worried about if they saw me with Draco or not, when-

When circumstances are what they are.

I have had two days to think about it. I have decided. I have made my peace with it. With dying for them.

It's nothing I haven't known for long I would have to do. Still, that knowledge was never concrete, never definite. Now that it is, I don't know what to do. Should I cry with them all? Should I paint on a noble face and sing the usual verse of a martyric hero?

Or should I tell them the truth? That I am scared. Terrified. Horrified. Absolutely disgusted to have to die voluntarily. And not only to have to die, but to have to cast the spell myself.

I will die. In three days. A week. A month. Whenever the Order decides it. Whenever it suits them.

_I can't do this._

Pulling myself from the comforting arms of Mrs Weasley, I look up at them. Scared, worried, pitying faces, all staring at me as if a was an animal up for slaughter.

_That joke is not funny anymore._

I try to tell them to stop. To not look at me like that. But my lips do not move, no words leave my mouth. A trembling breath later, I run. Ignoring the shouts and cries behind me, I run. I run after Draco, I run after my life.

In his room I find him, face drenched with tears and eyes still frighteningly abstract. His gaze focuses as I approach him. He tries to open his mouth and say something, but I hurry to kiss him before he does. Before he says anything to make the situation real. Before he says anything to make Dumbledore's words matter. To make Voldemort matter. To make the world matter.

I leave no room for objections. Clawing at Draco's clothes, I kiss him violently. "Make me forget." I whisper against his lips. He pulls away for a second, staring at me silently. Just as I am about to continue, he claims my lips again. Harshly, desperately this time. Within minutes we have ridden ourselves of our clothes, and I finally have him to myself again. Like moths before the fire we flutter together in our last moments. In my last moment.

His hands on my skin, his body against mine, his eyes meeting mine. In the violent rhythm he repeats my name, and I echo his desperation. Once again I am his. Once again he is mine. Like we were always meant to be. Like we will always be.

Forever.


	25. Running Up That Hill

Nightmares. Sometimes they plague us during our daily rest. These horrible dreams persecute us until we find them too real to be anything but true. We hate them. We fear them. Like formless Dementors they bring cold and darkness upon our world. But then we wake up, and find the world much as it was, and we breathe out as we realise it was all just a bad dream.

This is nothing like that.

I sleep until too late, only to wake up to the room filled with sunlight and a cold bed beside me. Only to find my worst nightmare to be my reality.

Slowly making my way out of bed, I try to suppress all the thoughts penetrating my mind. As my subconsciousness screams, feebly trying to convince me to leave this house and never come back, trying to convince me to _live_, I get dressed. I button my jeans, I make sure my T-shirt isn't on backwards. I even run a hand through my hair to try and tame my unruly locks.

I concentrate on anything. Anything to stop me from thinking. Anything to make me forget.

* * *

"It's too soon, Alastor! We don't have the time!"

We all sit in silence, staring at Lupin and the crazy old Auror. I almost feel the need to applaud the werewolf, I have never seen him express an opinion that is less than cooperative. Against anyone except me, of course.

Mad-Eye Moody seems less impressed. He bangs his wooden leg to the floor with frustration. "We cannot wait! What extra time we grant ourselves we also give You-Know-Who! By the time _you_ find us to be ready He might have left the Manor!"

Lupin exhales loudly. "But we are not prepared! _Harry _is not prepared!" His voice reeks of desperation, and I watch a dark cloud land upon the group. Even Moody seems to back down a bit, though he mutters under his breath.

"He is as prepared as he will ever be."

No one seems to object to this morbid sentence. Why would we, when it is true?

On the outside I show the same cold mask as I always do. No one will have to think this situation to be grave enough to bring feeling to my face. Though I expect my dread was all revealed last night, they will not have to be reminded of that. Because in the end, my fears, my shear despondency, nothing of it matters. It will not change the circumstances. It will not affect the ending of this tragic fairytale.

So I remain stone on the outside. On the inside, I am screaming.

"Albus, what do you think?" As a last desperate resort, Lupin looks at Dumbledore. I am surprised to realise that the Headmaster had barely said a word during the whole meeting. Now he sighs deeply, sitting up straighter in his chair as he gathers his words.

"For Harry's sake, I wish we could wait longer." The old man sighs, and I feel a sinking feeling in my gut. "Alas, Alastor is right. We have to strike while we are on the strong side of this. The more time we waste, the more time Voldemort has to gather his own weapons," Dumbledore turns at me sadly. "the more time Voldemort has to become suspicious of Draco. We have three days until Draco has to be back at the Manor. I think that we use those three days to plan. On the fourth day, we strike."

I hate myself for becoming such a big factor in this. I hate myself for going to Dumbledore in the first place. I could have lived a fairly normal life. Feeding off Muggles now and again, living of blood flavoured lollipops in between. Instead of finding myself in the midst of a raging battle. A bloody battle not only of good and evil, but of morals and impossible guilt.

Instead of finding myself in love with the foolish boy who was selected for immolation.

Father used to say that the war would bring us peace and glory. But I see no glory here. I see no peace. What glory is there in sending an innocent boy to sacrifice himself for us? What peace is there in living with that guilt forever, even after the flames of the battles have died out?

Some little calm sweeps into the room with Dumbledore's proclamation. Even as our world becomes embedded in this horror, it is good to know when to expect the tragedy. Three days is not much. But it gives us a chance.

It gives Harry a very long last mile.

* * *

I descend the stories to the first floor. From the dining room I hear a voice I recognize as Dumbledore's. For a second I am offended that they dared to start a meting without me. But then I hear those dreaded words.

"We have three days until Draco has to be back at the Manor. I think that we use those three days to plan. On the fourth day, we strike."

_Three days?_ As my heart suddenly catches in my throat, I have to lean against the wall to stay upright. Three days. I had expected at least a few weeks, a month perhaps. But _three days?_

I cannot enter the dining room as I'd originally planned. I cannot walk in there and face the decision they have made. My heart still pumping fiercely, my legs carry me to the library. Shutting the door behind me I take a seat in Draco's chair. Closing my eyes I can almost pretend none of this is happening. In this dark, familiar room, I can pretend nothing has changed. I feel Draco's presence here, lingering in this chair, in these books, in these walls, even as he plans my death in the dining room. I can pretend he stands behind me now in the shadows, soundless and invisible as always.

My mind embedded in the fantasy, I barely register the door opening.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice cuts through the darkness, and I slowly open my eyes. The girl walks up to me slowly, taking a seat in the other chair. "I thought I might find you here."

I do not answer. I have a hard time thinking of what to say. What do I want to say? I want to ask her about yesterday, what she thinks about what she saw. But do I really want to know? Do I really care?

We sit in silence for a moment, before Hermione coughs softly. She looks at me with big brown eyes, unshed tears glistening in the darkness. "Harry, I'm so sorry." The next thing I know I find her arms around my neck and her bushy hair in my face. Her tears wet my shoulder, and my arms come up around her in an awkward hug. Somehow this claim of affection seems so out of place, so foreign to me. I am ashamed to find myself so comfortable with Draco's arms around me, yet so disquieted with anyone else's close presence. When have I grown this distant to my closest friends?

"How could this happen?" Hermione sobs and shakes in my arms. "They say there is no other way! Now they have locked themselves in the dining room, planning- How can they possibly _plan_ this?!" By now she is almost screaming, hitting my shoulder with her fist. "How can they stand scheming for the battle, when- How can Dumbledore, how can Remus? And Tonks and Mr Weasley and Malfoy and-"

"Draco is not scheming."

The words leave my mouth before I even have time to register them. Hermione stops mid-sentence, her body tensing up as she takes a step back from me. Trying to wipe away her tears, she raises her head to look me in the eye. She stares at me with a furrowed brow, and I cannot help myself.

"Draco is not _scheming_. You make it sound like he is the enemy." I narrow my eyes as I stare at Hermione. "He is doing nothing but trying to make the best of the situation! Nothing except trying to _help_."

Hermione stares at me for a moment, raising an eyebrow and looking like she is trying to get some perspective. "Harry," she finally begins, a frown around her mouth. "What is this between you and Malfoy?"

I open my mouth to explain to her, but find I do not know what to say. There are no words for what we have. Only feelings, only colours. The three words I manage to utter seem way to insignificant to explain anything between me and Draco.

"I love him."

Instead of the shock I expected, sadness washes over Hermione's face. She fidgets and swallows a couple of times, as if uncertain if she should say anything or not.

"Oh, Harry." she sighs, taking a seat in the armchair. "Don't you see how messed up that is?"

I furrow my brow. "What are you on about?"

Hermione sighs another time, hands fidgeting over the hem of her skirt as she thinks about what to say. "Harry, I understand. When Malfoy feeds off you, when he bites you..." For a second Hermione seems lost in her own thoughts, and jealousy rises within me, because I know exactly what she is imagining. "It wakes... _feelings_. But Harry, it's not _real_." Suddenly Hermione is very somber again. "I too thought for a while I had feelings for Malfoy. But it's only the vampire. It's a _weapon_. Harry, it's _not Draco Malfoy_."

Somewhere deep inside me I feel the anger rise. But somehow I can't seem to grasp it. Why would I need to anyway, I don't believe a word Hermione is saying. So I just smile at her softly. "No Hermione, you're wrong."

She tries to cut me off. "Harry-"

"No." I interrupt her, starting to feel the anger sip through the numbness. "I love him. I love _Draco_. Not the vampire, not because of his powers."

"But Harry, he is Malfoy! He is mean and snobbish and-"

And I snap. "Shut up!"

Shock is mirrored in Hermione's eyes at my outbreak, but I cannot seem to stop there. "You don't know him, you have no idea what he's like!"

Hermione stands up from her chair. "Harry, he's using you! Can't you see it? He needs to feed off you, of course he is nicer to you than to other people. But it's _not real_!"

I am stunned to silence for a moment. I sigh and shake my head slowly, moving towards the door. Narrowing my eyes, I cast a last look at Hermione. "It's real for _me_. What does the rest matter when it will be over anyway in four days? If he doesn't care for me I don't need to know it three days before I die!"

Guilt washes over Hermione's face, but I cannot stay and face the consequences. I am already rushing out though the door.

* * *

"We enter through the fire place in the second story drawing room here..." I point to the spot on the map of the Mansion I drew. "Then I and a couple of Aurors proceed downstairs, while the rest of you remain on the main floor. The Death Eaters will try to escape when we attack them in the dungeons, so we need people to be there to... greet them when they do so."

"And what about Harry?"

Mr Weasley's words cut through me like knives, but I manage not to let it sip through onto my features. I only clear my throat before I mutter:

"Potter will stay in hiding until... 'til it's time."

No one objects, no one utters a word. It is as if a chill has suddenly entered the room. We have a plan now. A clear line to victory, to peace, to justice. But how will we ever be able to celebrate that justice? What justice is there in letting an innocent child die for this?

Of course, it is wrong of me to consider Harry's sacrifice more great than that of the others' already dead because of this war. But none of them, were willingly sacrificed. None of them had to take part in the battle, knowing that they would not survive to see it end. None had to themselves cast the spell.

I suddenly feel very tired. Highly unreasonable, actually, since I never need to sleep. But I reckon that this sudden exhaustion has little to do with a need for rest. The silence in the room draws on as everyone stares at the maps and notes scattered around the table. Letters and lines marking our victory, our salvation. Marking my eternity of devastation.

I rise from my chair, and no one even looks up to acknowledge my leave. I close the dining room door behind me, only to find myself face to face with a Weasley.

The Weasel stares at me with an empty gaze, completely void of the usual enmity shared between us. I am just about to move around the living dead red-head, when he suddenly speaks.

"They're going to attack in three days?" he croaks, still staring straight forward at the wooden door. I contemplate if he could possibly be speaking to himself, but after a minute I find myself forced to answer.

"Yes."

Another silent moment runs by, and I turn to leave when the Weasel speaks again. "They're really going to kill him?"

Razorblades dance in my gut at the words, and I take a deep breath, turning to face Weasley again. I am certain that I am unable to hide the pain on my face, but I'm not sure if it matters anymore.

"Harry is going to kill the Dark Lord. Everyone has but to accept the consequences."

Suddenly an enraged Weasley is staring back at me. "How dare you call him that?" I stare at the red-head in shock for a minute as he takes an intimidating step towards me. "After all you've done to him, how _dare _you say his name?!"

A fist flies my way, and I do not even bother to step aside. A roar echoes through the hall as the knuckles meet my face, but it is not me who s screaming. To me the punch feels more like a light slap, while Weasley is now clenching his hand in agony.

While in any other situation I would be laughing at the Weasel's misfortune, now I cannot. I wish he had punched me properly. I wish it had hurt. For I would have deserved it. The Weasel doesn't even know how true his accusations are. He doesn't know how deep my betrayal goes.

I am contemplating a way to make Weasley's hit count, when I look past the groveling figure and see Harry. He emerges from the corridor of the West Wing, tears clouding his eyes so that he doesn't even see me at first. He stops in his tracks, staring at me for a second before looking down at the Weasel.

"Harry! Wait!"

Harry startles at the voice of Granger from the corridor behind him, and he hurries past me and Weasley, rushing up the stairs. The Weasel looks up as Harry runs by him, exclaiming "Harry!", but the other boy doesn't stop.

Thoughts rush through my head as I turn my head from Harry to the Weasel and back again, listening to Granger's approaching footsteps at the same time. Rashly making my decision of what to do, I rush after Harry before Granger has the time to appear and see me.

I catch up to him in the hall.

"Harry!" I grab his shoulder, but he struggles free.

"Let me go!" he exclaims and continues running. I grab him again, wrapping my arms around him and bringing him to my chest. He struggles until the sound of Granger's approaching footsteps reach him, and he stops to look up at me.

"Hide me." Harry croaks, his fingers digging into my upper arms. I stare at him for a split second, before I grab him and drag him into the nearest cupboard. Harry holds his breath desperately, not breathing out before Granger has long since passed the door.

With the air come the tears. The former resistance has suddenly disappeared, and it seems he can't get close enough to me. He clings to my robes, presses me up against the dusty wall, his head tucked under my chin. The sobs grow more incoherent as his tears start wetting the front of my robes.

"I don't want to die."

His voice is weak and desperate, as if he expects me to make it better, to take pain away. And I want to, I do. So, so much. But all I can do is hold him, kiss him, try to make him forget. But his days are counted. And even I can't turn back time.


	26. Stay

-1

My madness seems to become more distinct with each passing hour. As I chose my fate I was not yet scared, only determined. Then the fear set in. Then the anguish. Now I am so utterly terrified that I don't know what to do with myself.

I cannot seem to stop crying. I attended an Order meeting where the details of the battle were made clear for me. My part in it, at least. The pity and utter devastation I saw in everyone's eyes as my barrier broke was dreadful. Through a vail of tears I watched them all fidget in their seats, terrified and guilty, unable to say a single word lest it would upset me more.

Draco tries to get me to join him every time he leaves for another meeting. He knows I will not. I cannot bear sitting there in that room, watching everyone fear that anything they might say will launch me into another fit of uncontrollable sobbing. I know what I must do, that is enough. I need not know of the other stuff, I need not be there to decide it.

The less I think about the matter, the better. As if I could forget.

* * *

I am with him whenever I have the opportunity, whenever I am not forced to be at those meetings, deciding about his death.

My self-disgust increases with every meeting. Each time I leave him alone, tears filling his eyes. Those tears that never seem to cease. It is devastating to have to leave him, yet I cannot be absent from a single meeting. I cannot risk them making a mistake without me there. We do not have room for a single error. What if something goes wrong?

What if Harry dies in vain?

* * *

"Come in, son."

I walk through the door, and Dumbledore closes it behind me. I sit down in front of the lit fire place, the fire casting shadows into the corners of the drawing room.

The Headmaster takes a seat in another chair. While I wait for him to speak, I desperately try to prevent myself from crying. It seems to be an impossible task these days.

Dumbledore coughs. "Harry," he begins, stalling. "You do know that you don't have to do this?"

_Ah, that is why I'm here._ I sigh. The old man feels guilty for my sacrifice, more so than ever after having watched me sob and weep my way through the last two days.

When I do not answer immediately, he continues. "No one will hold you responsible if you change your mind. You are not _obliged_ to do this."

I smile slightly, chuckling. "I'm grateful for your consideration, Headmaster. I really am." I turn my attention to the fire for a moment, then back to Dumbledore. "But sir, what you say makes no difference to how I feel. No difference to my decision."

"Harry," the Headmaster sighs, his blue eyes staring at me gravely over his half-moon spectacles. "You are only a boy. It is not your duty to sacrifice yourself. No one could expect such a thing from you, from anyone."

That is where the old man is wrong. It _is_ my duty. How many have not already made the ultimate sacrifice in this war to save someone else? And did not many of them have family, loved ones left behind? I have no one to leave behind, no family that wouldn't recover from my death. Besides, I am not just saving _someone_, I could be saving _everyone_.

No, no one could be expecting this from me. Except myself.

"Sir, as I said, I am grateful. But if this is the entire reason you have called me here, then I will leave now. This is pointless." _-And a waste of my precious time._ I rise from my chair, careful not to meet the Headmaster's eyes too pointedly. If I did, he might notice the doubt within me. Dumbledore says nothing as I walk past him and out through the door, but I feel his eyes on me.

I was not entirely truthful. How could I be? Of course I don't want to die, I'm not _that_ much of a fool.

* * *

"Is there anything you want to do today?"

He lies on his side, looking at me with grave silver eyes. I turn on my back and stare up at the ceiling, wishing I could sink into the sheets and never have to get up.

"No. I don't want to do anything."

Draco voices no objections, though he knows just as well as I do that there are some things I will have to do today. I will have to bid my farewells. To Ron, to Hermione. To Dumbledore, to Remus, to Mr and Mrs Weasley.

To Draco.

"How does one say goodbye?" I croak at the ceiling, unable to turn and look Draco in the eyes. A long silence follows my question. I start to believe I won't get an answer.

Finally I hear a sigh. "You don't."

And then he rolls on top of me, pressing his lips tightly against mine, pulling the sheet from between our bodies. Skin against skin, I intertwine my fingers into his hair. His hands roam my body, his thigh pressed between my legs. He is harsh and rough, leaving no room for objections, no room for me to catch my breath.

He sinks into me, biting my neck harshly as he does. I hiss and groan beneath him, our mutual loud breaths echoing around us. I dig my nails into his back, probably drawing long pink lines down his back. He shudders beneath my touch, and I marvel at the feeling of being able to affect him like that.

Draco pants in my year, and I feel like my heart is beating out of my chest. The feeling and mixture of senses is overwhelming, and it is over much too soon. Draco comes with a throaty groan, his shoulders flexing and chest shaking. He is absolutely gorgeous. He lets himself fall on top of me, burying his face in my neck as the aftershocks run through us both. Draco trembles one last time, and his lips part against my shoulder as he whispers:

"Don't you dare tell me goodbye."

A shudder runs through me, and I feel a tear run down my face. How could I keep such a promise? How can I leave him, without telling him... Without thanking him?

"Promise me."

So I do. How could I refuse him? How could I ever deny him?

* * *

"Merlin!"

I hear a sob from the kitchen, and refrain from entering as I had planned. Instead I remain outside the door, waiting. Listening.

"Calm down, Molly." Mr Weasley's voice carries out to me. The sobbing doesn't stop, but calms down a bit.

"I can't help it!" Mrs Weasley exclaims, and I hear the sound of a fist hitting wood. "It is so unfair! How can they make him, make that poor boy-"

Mr Weasley sighs sadly. "No one is making him, Molly. It was his own choice."

Another cry echoes against the stone walls. "His own choice? Something like that is never one's one choice! Especially not a young boy's! Oh, that poor boy..."

I want to leave, but somehow I find myself frozen in place. I don't want to hear this, those sentences, those words that everyone keeps repeating. Those words that I keep repeating to myself.

I don't have to. I don't. No one is forcing me.

But I chose it. This. I chose my fate. While my head keeps telling me to run, my feet refuse. Try as I may to tell myself that I want to live, there is something I want more; I want them to live. Hermione, Ron, all of the Weasleys.

And Draco. If only I could give him a life, too.

I jump half a meter into the air as I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn around to find Draco behind me. He watches me gravely as he takes in my expression, and I try not to look too gloomy. But he knows what I have heard, and he knows how I feel. When does he not?

"Come on." he whispers, taking my hand. I follow him down the hall to the West Wing. Silently we climb the stairs to the 3rd floor. I have the peculiar feeling that I'm going to get scolded. Why, I'm not completely sure.

We step inside his room, and he closes the door. "Sit down."

I do so, on the edge of the bed. Draco stares at me silently for a moment, before he moves forward to sit beside me. I feel the bed shift as he sits down, but I do not dare to look at him. What is it now that demands such seriousness?

Oh well, dumb question.

"Harry," he begins, crossing his hands in his lap. "I know you are tired of hearing this, but at the risk of repeating myself and everyone else; you don't have to do this."

I cannot help the snort that escapes me. Draco's stern look pierces through me, and I turn to look at him from the corner of my eye. "You're right, I have heard that a couple of times." I laugh softly, earning another disapproving gaze. "Is there a reason for you to repeat yourself?"

"Stop doing that!"

I jump at his sudden exclamation. I turn my eyes to the floor as Draco stands up and steps in front of me. "Stop pretending it's not a big deal! Stop pretending it's just one of those hard decisions in life that we all have to make! It's not!"

I try to object, but feel the words stuck in my throat. Draco doesn't stop, but falls to the floor before me. "I watch you cry each time someone mentions tomorrow. Every time, except when they ask you to give it up!"

He grabs my hands, my fingers shaking beneath his. "I know I can't change your mind, Harry, but..." Draco takes a deep breath and averts his eyes. "It's okay for you to cry, you know? It's okay to be furious and scared." He looks back up at me, grabbing my hands more firmly.

"Harry, no one wants to die."

I meet his gaze for a long minute, until I cannot help myself anymore. I let out a pained cry and fall back on the bed. Staring at the ceiling like so many times before, I feel the tears overflow.

"I don't want to die. I don't want to go out there tomorrow and-" I feel the bed shift as Draco lies down next to me, ad I close my eyes so I won't have to look at him. "I just want to leave here and...live! But... Fuck! If I don't do this, I will have to stay here forever, cooped up behind these walls, hiding forever..."

"Would it-" The bed shifts again, and a shudder runs through me as I feel Draco draw his finger against my collarbone and neck. "Would it be so horrible? To stay here forever? With me?"

My breath gets caught in my throat. _Did he just say that?_ I turn my head to the side and open my eyes, finding Draco on his side, staring at me seriously. I wait for him to say something more, but when he doesn't I open my dry mouth and croak:

"No, it wouldn't." I sob. "I would, Draco. I really would. But I can't have the lives of hundreds of people on my neck just because I want to stay here with you." I shake my head, sighing deeply.

"I can't."

Draco's expression doesn't change, I don't think he ever expected me to change my mind. I'm pretty sure he just wanted to say it, wanted me to hear him say it. He keeps staring at me for a long moment, until he leans closer, his face so close to mine, breath ghosting against my lips. I take in his scent, breathing in as deeply as I can until I can't take it anymore. I gasp breathily, throwing myself around Draco's neck and kissing him furiously.

I fight with the clasp on his belt, finally ripping it open and zipping down his pants. Pulling his shirt out, I fidget for a moment with the buttons until desperation takes over and rip the shirt open, buttons flying everywhere. He moves to tug at my shirt, but I slap his hands away. I push him to stay on his back as I lie down on top of him. My hands searching his body, my lips kissing his skin all over. He shivers and gasps beneath me, his hardness digging into my hip.

"Fuck! Harry-" he finally croaks, and I stop teasing him. I look up to find him staring at me, eyes glazed and desperate. Still, he doesn't move hastily. Slowly he rolls both of us over, softly pushing me into the mattress and lying himself on top of me. I watch his muscles flex as he moves his arms, sliding my shirt over my shoulders. I shudder as the cold air meets my skin, and even more so when Draco leans over me to nuzzle my throat. He breathes in my scent, and a violent shiver runs down my spine. I had completely forgot about his feeding.

"Harry?" he whispers softly, asking. Pleading. As if he would have to.

"Y-yes!" I groan hoarsely, trembling with anticipation. I hear Draco take a deep breath, and seconds later that exquisite pain pierces my throat. I gasp loudly, my body arching off the bed. Draco presses down on me, keeping me still while he sucks at my throat furiously. I try to concentrate on breathing, my heart seemingly beating out through my chest.

Finally I realise that he has begun lapping at the wound, and soon he moves away altogether. In that second I launch at him, pressing my lips against his, tasting my blood in my mouth. My hands move down over his back, and I start tugging at his trousers. He returns the movement by unzipping my jeans and pulling away slightly, tugging the pants off my legs in one swift movement. He shakes off his own, too, before he lies back down.

Skin pressed against skin, nails and teeth digging in to flesh, hands everywhere. His body moulds perfectly into mine, as if we were made for each other. We move together for what could be an eternity, thrusting, groaning. At some point I realise myself shouting the words harder, faster, oh god yes, I love you, I love you. And to my further ecstasy I hear Draco chanting my name over and over in my ear.

"Harry! Oh god... Fuck! Harry..." he murmurs huskily, groaning. "Harry...Please. Stay... with me."

My heart seems to stop beating, and before I know it, it's over. I'm coming, and so is Draco, never more beautiful than when he looks down at me right now, lower lip trembling as he whispers yet again.

"Stay with me."

I wish that I could tell him yes. I would give anything for that ability. Because I realise that those words are the closest I will ever get to him telling me he loves me.

I want to tell him. I want to tell him why I can't do what he asks, and what it means to me that he is asking. But my mouth is filled with ash, and the proper words won't form. All I can seem to do is shudder with the aftershocks and stare into his pale face as I croak:

"Don't forget me."

* * *

"Don't forget me." he whispers hoarsely. The most ridiculous sentiment in the world.

How could I?

I envy him. In truth and utter ridicule, I do. He is the one that gets to leave. The one that gets to die. The one that won't have to remember. I will have to live on for a thousand years or more, waiting for some kind soul to come and kill me.

I don't want to forget him. But how can I live without him?


	27. Castles of Sand

The black morning dawns. But there is no rain to match the dread and destruction that comes with this day. Only the sun that shines in through the curtains, the rays landing on the dusty floor. I turn my head to look at the boy sleeping beside me. Black locks fill out the pillow under his head, his deep breaths puffing against my shoulder. He is excruciatingly beautiful, in his last moments more so than ever.

I rise and move to the bathroom to take a shower. Under the gushing water I feel a chuckle leave my lips. It is ridiculous really, how we find time to wash ourselves even in the midst of Harmageddon.

Soft footsteps tap against the floor. The shower curtains are drawn aside and Harry steps in beneath the shower. He doesn't say a word or even look me in the eye, but presses himself firmly against my chest, head safely in the crook of my neck. I sigh and wrap my arms around him, holding onto him like my life depends on it.

His does.

We stand like this for I don't know how long. Savouring these last hours. How many times has he not been on death row? How many times has he not been an inch from destruction?

But this time it is different. There is no chance to escape. This end is absolute.

"We need to get dressed." I whisper into his ear, and he shudders softly against me, as if he is waking up. Bright green eyes, glittering with unshed tears look up at me. He smiles softly, letting go of me and disappearing out through the door. I watch him go, slowly moving my arm to close the shower.

When he dies, it will be the end of me. When he leaves, my heart will go with him.

* * *

Mrs Weasley is the only one in the kitchen this early. Her eyes threaten to spill over with tears as soon as Harry enters the room, but luckily she seems able to restrain herself.

"Harry," she croaks, her voice betraying her anguish. "Would you like some breakfast, dear?" The woman seems determined to honour Harry's silent wish to be treated 'normally'. Even today. Even this morning.

"Just some toast, thank you." Harry mumbles, and I almost jump at the sound of his voice. It seems as if he is dead already, and I am hearing his voice from beyond the grave.

"Of course." Mrs Weasley smiles sadly, loudly swallowing the tears still in her eyes. She hurries to turn her back and starts preparing the breakfast. Harry takes a seat at the table, and I sit down beside him. The room is eerily quiet, except for Mrs Weasley who seems to have her mind set on making as much noise as possible with her pots and pans. Harry doesn't seem to mind, he just keeps staring into emptiness. He manages two minutes without crying before I notice his lower lip starting to tremble. A tentative hand seeks my hand over the table, his shaking fingers grabbing mine. A single tear falls down his cheek, and I curl my hand over his. Then those green eyes are looking up at me again, so grateful and terrified that I want to kill him right now just to stop him from looking like that.

"Here is your bread, dear."

Mrs Weasley puts the plate in front of Harry on the table, along with a steaming cup of tea. She doesn't even raise an eyebrow at our joined hands. Maybe she just didn't noticed, she seems determined to look anywhere but at us. Of course. She doesn't want Harry to die. But she wants peace, just like everyone else. She doesn't really feel sad. Just guilty.

* * *

I have never seen an Order meeting this quiet. Not even Dumbledore dares to say a word out of place. We go over the plan again. Yes, everyone has looked at the map I drew of the Manor. Yes, everyone knows what they are supposed to do.

No, no one is ready.

Harry sits silently beside me. He has been informed of what he is supposed to do. He knows who will accompany and protect him, he knows where he is supposed to face the Dark Lord.

And while everyone else plan further, Harry needs not. The arrangement for his deeds ends there.

Everyone is resolved to avoid the topic around Harry's confrontation with Voldemort. Every other detail is worked through five times so that everyone is absolutely certain that they know what will happen. But no one seems brave enough to take up the topic of the Dark Lord's destruction. No one has the heart to speak to this brave boy beside me about his death. No one is capable of enduring any more of his tears.

"Harry? You know what to do, right?"

I feel the urge to snort out loud at the Headmaster. Of course Harry knows what to do. His only task now is to stay alive, until...

But he nods bravely, eyes firmly fixed on the edge of the table. "Yeah. I know."

* * *

There is no time for goodbyes. Before I have time to realise what is happening, I am stepping into the fire place, Moody, Tonks, Kingsley and two Aurors named Williams and Savage behind me.

I cast one last look into Harry's face before I am devoured by the green flames.

I turn to the Aurors as we've all arrived into the Malfoy Manor drawing room. "They will be in the dungeons. I will go in first, and you will follow at my sign. Let's be quick, the others will be here in half an hour."

"Yes, yes, we know." Moody mutters, presumably pissed that he has to take orders from a Malfoy when it come to his own area of speciality.

We walk as silently as possible down the stairs and through the main hall. It has started raining, the drops running down the great windows to the orchard. Creeping down the stairway to the dungeons, I can hear the noise of the Death Eaters gathered below us. Stepping into the dimly lit corridor, Kingsley, Moody, Savage, Williams and my cousin all stand back, pressed against the wall as I move towards the door. I grab my wand firmly in my hand.

Each and every Death Eater quiets down as I enter. There are about fifteen of them, and none look too pleased. Least of all Father. Only the Dark Lord, sitting at the end of that long table, greets me with appreciation.

"Draco," he exclaims, gesturing towards a chair next to him, where another Death Eater, Macnair, is already sitting. "You have returned as expected! Why not have a seat here next to me?" The Lord casts a glance in Macnair's way, who immediately rises from his seat to make room for me.

I only sneer, remaining standing by the door. "I don't think I will."

"What?" Voldemort furrows his brow, a frown forming around his mouth. "You dare to refuse my wish?"

I grin. "Afraid so," And I raise my wand, aiming at the Death Eater closest to me, Jugson. "_Expulso!_"

As Jugson is blown away, a second of complete silence follows. The all hell breaks loose. The Aurors are at my back at about the same time when the curses start flying. I hear Savage getting hit by a _Crucio_, but at the same time Kingsley and Moody are able to bring down two more Death Eaters. A Killing Curse flies Tonks' way, but she is able to sidestep it and answers it with a Immobiulus Charm, neutralizing another Death Eater; my aunts brother-in-law, Rabastan.

Alecto Carrow throws a _Crucio_ my way, and is shocked when the curse hits and I don't fall to the floor screaming. I sneer scornfully at the fool and flick my wand, bringing him down with a Blasting Curse.

Some of the Death Eaters have by now escaped out through the door. I see a flash of blond hair vanishing into the dark corridor, and I follow.

"Moody! It's time!" I shout, my back already turned on him. He follows suit after throwing a last Immobilus Charm at Macnair.

When we arrive in the main hall it is filled with Death Eaters and the newly arrived other Aurors. Through the cloud of spells and curses I pursue Lucius. Moody runs towards the stairs, where I see Harry descending with Lupin as his guard. I want to do the same, run over and do anything to keep Harry safe, but for the moment I am not yet needed. Besides, right now I have another thing to take care of.

Lucius seems to realise his inability to run from me, and he turns around to confront me, thinking he might be safer surrounded by all the other Death Eaters, Bellatrix and her husband not far away. I fight the urge to chuckle; he doesn't even begin to understand how much trouble he is in.

"What has gotten you here?" Father hisses, sneering at me with disgust. "You are a Malfoy! Malfoys stay with the family!"

I snort, lifting an eyebrow as I drawl: "Maybe you should take your own advice and for once not choose the Dark Lord over your own son."

Lucius just laughs. "I never expected you to be such a fool, Draco." he spits. My gut feels heavy. I never expected to get anything but a refusing answer, but I can't deny that it stings.

"Loyalty and blood is all that matters." Father huffs again, curling his lip in distaste. "You never could understand that. I always knew there was something wrong with you. You were never a real Malfoy."

* * *

Around me is nothing but destruction. With Moody and Remus guarding me I feel relatively safe, but outside of the shield they produce reigns chaos. I have a hard time gathering what is happening; all around me people are screaming, casting curses. The glass doors into the garden are crashed, the rain from outside falling in. Black Death Eater robes flash everywhere around me, the air is filled with screams. But as I am led through the main hall, there is only one voice I listen after.

Then I hear familiar voice that sends shivers up my spine.

"I always knew there was something wrong with you. You were never a real Malfoy."

I turn to the right and indeed, there I see Lucius and Draco. Father and son, wands pointed at each other. On Lucius' face there is an expression of utter disgust.

Draco snorts. "Too bad for you that you didn't do anything about it before. Now it's too late."

"You really believe that you can win this battle, son?" Lucius huffs, looking around in the hall. "With that old fool Dumbledore not even here? Who is going to save you? Potter?"

My heart contracts in my chest, and Draco narrows his eyes. "It is you who needs saving." And he swings his wand. "_Confringo!_"

The Blasting Curse misses Lucius by an inch, and while he avoids the spell he turns towards the Aurors and me. A malicious leer spreads on Lucius face as his eyes lock on my face. "Bella! Rodolphus! Take Potter!" he shouts, before turning back towards his son.

An expression of shock and desperation appears on Draco's face as he hears those words, and his eyes turn briefly towards me. _Run!_ is the clear message, but it's too late. Two Death Eaters are already approaching us.

"Potter!" Bellatrix coos, madness glazing her eyes as she walks closer, eyes fixed on me. "So glad you could make it!"

"Not so fast, Bellatrix!" Moody roars, sending a curse at the witch. She steps aside lightly, chuckling as the spell misses its target. As she raises her wand at Moody, Rodolphus casts a curse at Remus. The adrenalin pumps furiously in my veins as both of my guardians are pulled further and further away from me, trying to fight off the Lestranges. I grab my wand furiously, trying to keep my back towards the wall.

"Can't you do any better than that?!" I hear Lucius roar at Bellatrix and Rodolphus, as he furiously tries to hit his son with curses. I cannot but wonder how one could possibly fight their own family for life and death. The thought has just run through my head as Draco swings his wand yet again.

"_Sectumsempra!_"

This time Lucius is distracted, and the spell doesn't miss it's target. While the light flashes, a horrible memory surges through my brain. The black cloak is ripped open and blond strands of hair are drenched in blood, but this time it's not Draco.

Draco stops, staring at his father lying there on the ground. Remus breaks him out of his trance.

"Draco! Take Harry!"

He seems to become aware of his surroundings yet again, and in a frenzy his eyes search for me. When they find me, he surges to my side and pulls me out through the trashed door into the garden.

"Are you alright?" He asks, looking over his shoulder into the house, keeping an eye on how Remus and Moody are doing. I cannot control myself, but through my arms around his neck and press my lips firmly against his. I try to savour what most likely will be our last kiss, but Draco breaks it off soon. He tears away my shaking hands, swallowing deeply. In that second we hear Bellatrix's cry:

"Yaxley! Rowle! Go get Potter!"

They have all moved outside now. I watch two other Death Eaters approach from further away, and Draco's body tenses beside me. He stands in front of me, and I watch him crouch into a defensive position.

"Lupin!" he shouts, "Protect Harry! I'll take care of them!"

Remus casts a last spell Rodolphus way before he turns around and hurries our way. Draco steps aside from me only when Remus has reached us. He looks at me one last time, before he breathes in deeply.

"Take care of him." he mutters to Remus, who nods silently. Then Draco hurries off to meet the three approaching Death Eaters. They all look doubtful at how they are going to take on a vampire, but still seem to have trust in their numbers. Approaching in a half circle, they all hold on to their wands tightly. Remus pulls me with him even further away, closer to the orchard, but even from a far distance I cannot bear to look away.

Draco raises his wand. "_Everte Statum!_"he shouts, sending Yaxley flying a couple of yards away, landing in the wet grass. Rodolphus and Rowle look quite shaken as they gaze after their fallen companion, but they keep moving forward. Draco sneers viciously, revealing his bared fangs and crouching, ready for an attack.

Rowle sends a _Crucio_ his way, but Draco steps aside from it easily. He keeps moving, running in a half circle to the left and taking on an unprepared Rodolphus from the side. A muffled cry escapes the Death Eater, but is cut short as Draco's hands close around his throat. The blood seems to be everywhere and Bellatrix's vail sounds through the air. I am just about to look away from the disgusting sight when I hear something even more discouraging.

"So, Harry," a cold voice calls over the yard. I turn towards the house, from where Voldemort, followed by two masked Death Eaters, has just exited. "Dumbledore thinks he can defeat me by sending his little hero and vampire after me?"

Voldemort approaches me swiftly, seemingly gliding over the yard. His two henchmen take off to the left, towards Draco. The rain increases, and thunder strikes somewhere far away. A shudder runs through me as the snake-like man casts a glance in Draco's direction, his face turning into a gleeful sneer. "I must admit that the vampire's work is quite efficient, but it will hardly have an effect on the outcome of this."

I hear another scream from Draco's direction, presumably Rowle's, but I dare not look away from Voldemort. I fight to not look as afraid as I am. "Are you sure about that, Tom?" I ask mockingly, raising an eyebrow. "The number of your little Dirt Eaters seems to be shrinking rapidly, much thanks to Draco."

No doubt shows on Voldemort's face, but he turns to gaze towards where Draco and the two Death Eaters are. _Crucios_ and _Avada Kedavras_ are cast, and the Death Eaters are dumbstruck when Draco shows no reaction. I watch him make a lunge for one of them before I turn to Voldemort again. Voldemort narrows his eyes at the sight, but is still perfectly calm when he looks back at me. His mouth turns into what supposedly is a smile.

"I think we should end this farce now, before I end up losing both Macnair and Travers because of Dumbledore's stupid little pet."

Remus steps in front of me out of habit, and I wish I wouldn't have to ask him to step aside. I swallow and take in a deep breath. "Remus," is all I have to say. He turns around, looking at me with sympathy and anguish. But he knows and I know what must be done. He steps aside, concentrating on keeping any other Death Eater away from me. By now most of the battle has moved outside; the Death Eaters have come to protect their master, the Aurors to protect me for as long as I am to be protected.

I take a deep breath, trying to find a way to stand firmly on the soggy ground. Voldemort leers mockingly at my pathetic attempt to duel with him, and I have a hard time concentrating on anything beside the constant ringing in my ears. The overdose of adrenalin is making my head spin.

"Any last words, Harry?" Voldemort asks, his white fingers firmly curled around his wand.

I shudder. _Yeah._ There is much I would like to say. Much I will never get to say. But it's too late for that now. I hear a blast of curses and gaze over to Draco, where both Macnair and Travers now lie immobile on the ground. Draco stares at me, his eyes pleading me to run one last time. But he doesn't realise that his silent pledge is the one thing that keeps me standing here. If I do this, he won't have to fight ever again. If I do this, Draco will be free.

I turn towards Voldemort, breathing deeply one last time. "Goodbye, Tom."

As Voldemort raises his wand, I embrace my death.

* * *

I watch in desperation as Harry approaches the Dark Lord. I fight between the will to run after him, and the will to just bury my head in the sand to stop me from watching. But somehow I cannot seem to do either. I can only stare as the raven-haired, gangly boy takes one step after another, slowly approaching that vile, dreadful madman.

Is there really nothing I can do? How can a spell not have a counter-spell? If he could just step aside, when the curse hits... if only he had the speed I have.

I hear screams and shout from around me, spells cast and hitting or missing their targets. I watch with tremor as the Dark Lord says something, then raises his wand with a cruel smile on his face.

I need to move, I need to do something, anything so I won't have to watch this. Still, somehow, I cannot seem to react. Because I am too busy watching that beautiful, stupid, _stupid_ boy moving away from me, raising his wand, smiling at death. I am too busy watching those happy days, our last months, repeated before me. Mine and Harry's life, playing before my eyes.

As if I were the one to die.

And then I realise. Harry doesn't have the speed. But I do.

_It's too far. I can't make it._

I have to make it. I lunge for him just as I hear those dreaded words.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

As I run I watch from the corner of my eye as the green light approaches Harry, at the same time as he takes a deep breath.

"_Contandem Recolo!_"

I am almost by Harry as the deafening boom is heard. But not close enough. The two trails of light have met and have now lunged back towards their casters. I won't make it. With all I have left, I trow myself into the air.

I realise I have saved him just as the curse hits me.


	28. The Sacrifice

When I open my eyes, all around me is light. A moment I believe that I really have died, until I feel the cold wet ground below me. As I slowly regain my eyesight, I see someone standing over me. For a second I think it is my mother, until that image is brutally shattered.

"Oh, whom do we have here?"

Bellatrix laugh cuts through the air like a gunshot, her voice sounding even more maniacal than usual. I try to move but my head is still spinning and my vision is off, so the only good I really manage to do is kick my aunt in the shin.

She hisses viciously, before her voice turns into a chuckle once more. "You think you can escape from me, do you? Itsy bitsy little Draco." she teases in a song-song voice, getting down on the ground and leaning further over me. I claw at her, my nails ripping her shoulder bloody, but she only keeps snickering. "The brat Potter killed our Lord. And what did you do?" Suddenly her voice turns dangerous. "You saved him! It wasn't enough what you did to Rodolphus! You had to jump in front Potter!"

My aunt leans closer to me, whispering as she raises an indulged eyebrow. "You love him, don't you?" As she sees my eyes widen, she chuckles merrily. "I saw that kiss you exchanged. No use denying it."

Bellatrix leans back, a bitter, vicious smile spreading on her lips. "That brat destroyed everything I love most. Now I'm going to destroy something of his!"

Before I have time to react she raises her arm, and seconds later I feel a tearing pain in my chest. I gasp for air as a burning pain violates my body, spreading like flames to every corner of my being. Bellatrix rises to her feet and my body convulses as she withdraws the weapon from my chest. The wooden stake glistens of blood.

Something distracts my aunt, and she looks over her shoulder, smiling silently as she turns back to me. Her voice is thick with mirth. "For what you did, little Draco, this is barely a punishment at all. You deserved worse." And she disappears from my reign of vision.

* * *

It takes a long moment for me to realise that Voldemort really has fallen. Swung away by the power of the spell, he is laying in the grass, unmoving. Voldemort is dead. And I'm still alive.

Oh God. Draco.

Suddenly I regain my senses, and look around for Draco. I see him laying immobile on the ground almost twenty yards away. A woman I recognize as Bellatrix is standing over him, and moves away with a terrible smile as she sees me. In a second I have forgotten all about Voldemort, and I almost fall over my feet as I start running towards Draco. Tremor rises within me as I watch the witch disappear. Remus steps in my way, and somewhere in the background I hear the sound of the Aurors casting spells on Voldemort's corpse.

"Calm down, Harry." Remus says calmly, laying a hand on my shoulder. "Draco is a vampire. A spell can't hurt him."

I hear the sense in Remus' words, but in the pit of my stomach I feel that something is wrong. I shrug off the werewolf's hand and proceed towards Draco. In the mud I slip and fall, but pay no mind to it as I desperately crawl forward.

I fall to Draco's side in the mud, taking in his weak form. His clothes are soaked, his black robe drenched with dew. His features are strikingly pale against the dark ground, his blond locks forming a halo around his head.

"Harry," he croaks, eyes slowly focusing on me. I sigh out in relief.

"Thank God," I manage to finally breathe again. "I almost though-"

Draco cuts me off with a small cough, his whole body convulsing from the small movement. Tremor rises within me anew. "What's wrong? Draco? What-" My words get caught in my throat as I watch Draco's blood-tainted hand frantically clamp around his chest. "Draco, let me see."

He looks at me pointedly for a second, but obediently removes his hand without a word. I now see that the cloth around his chest is ripped, and the shirt on his left ribs is tainted red. With a trembling hand I reach out to touch the wound, Draco shuddering in pain beneath me.

"This can't be too bad, right?" I utter, desperately seeking confirmation from Draco's pale features.

But I receive only a small, sad smile. "Harry..." he mumbles softly, grabbing my hand with his shaking, clammy one. "What do you feel?"

I stare down at him, confused and frightened. What do I feel? Scared to death, terrified by having him on the ground before me. Wounded, his clammy hand holding mine-

_Clammy._

I draw in a fast intake of breath and grab both of his hands in mine, trying to stop us both from trembling. "Draco..." is all I manage to say, for my mouth seems suddenly filled with ash.

"So you see," he says softly, holding on to my hand tightly. "Warm."

And he is right. His hands, which I have learned to love as cold and stony, are now hot and sweaty.

"I don't understand..." I mumble, covering his cheek with one hand while running my other hand gently over his wounded chest.

"Harry-" Draco begins, but is cut off when another cough takes over his body. "Harry," he starts anew as the convulsing stops. "Bellatrix."

"Yeah, I saw her." I state, still seeming to miss the important. "But she can't hurt you. You can't be hurt, you-" And that's when my hand brushes over his heart.

His beating heart.

"Do you remember what I told all of you-" he croaks, gathering a new breath of air. "the first time I came to the Order meeting?"

Frantically I play the events of that night through my head, desperate to find the connection. He spoke about being immortal, about not being able to die. Unless-

_"-that is to be my lot until someone is kind enough to plunge a wooden stake into my chest."_

Draco smiles comfortingly as realisation dawns on me.

_Oh God._

"No!" I gasp, staring at the boy in front of me in unreasonable disbelief. "You can't _die_! You're a _vampire_, you're immortal...you're-" Tears well over as I break down and sob against his chest. "...You're my Draco."

And he smiles again, a trembling hand coming up to wipe away my tears. "Harry, all humans die. In death, even I become human again."

"No...!" I can only sob, clinging to Draco's hand on my face. He strokes my cheek gently, his silver eyes shining through a veil of tears.

"I'm not afraid." he croaks, voice raw and breathless. "There is nothing in death that frightens me." His hands shake softly. "But I'm afraid to leave you. I'm afraid..." Draco smiles sadly, even as his body convulses from the pain. "I'm afraid you'll forget me."

"I won't! No!" I exclaim, furiously claiming his hand. "_No!_ Because you won't die! You won't leave me! You _can't_ leave me...!" My voice breaks into uncontrollable sobs. Draco clenches my hand one final time, still bearing that beautiful smile upon his face.

"Don't forget."

His heart stops beating just as the Aurors reach the scene.


	29. Epilogue: Now We Are Free

Through the pouring rain I watch the coffin being lowered into the grave, wondering for perhaps the hundredth time why it isn't me. Why it wasn't my life to be taken. Mine, which has caused enough suffering, enough death, already. This should be my punishment, not his. Never his.

I look beside me and see Dumbledore standing there, his face unnaturally expressionless. Mine can't stay that way. Even though there are about a hundred people at this funeral, I can do nothing to hide the tears running down my face. Ron stares at me as if though he doesn't really know what to believe of all of this, while Hermione is looking at me with unconditional sympathy. Somehow that disgusts me to no end.

I crouch down to scrape up a handful of sand and dust, before taking a deep breath and letting it slip through my finger on to the hardwood coffin. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Dumbledore says a few words which I pay no mind to, for I know what whatever he has to say makes no difference. Nothing will bring Draco back to me. No one else says a word for him, not even me. Perhaps I should apologise for that, but I won't. For who am I to dishonour his memory by telling his secrets to strangers? He would hate me for that.

Once the ceremony is over, the people clear out one after one. I watch the grave keeper fill the grave, watch Draco being buried by rocks and soil. Soon the work is done, and I am left alone with my Draco.

Feeling the air being drawn out of me, I fall onto my knees to the ground. "I'm sorry, Draco. I am so sorry." I croak, burying my fingers in the rain-softened ground, imagining I can reach him through it.

"This wasn't how it was supposed to be." I sniff, feeling my nails scrape the dust and mud and stones below. "_I_ was supposed to die in that battle. _You_ were supposed to live on. And years from now, you would remember. You were supposed to remember...!"

I wipe my teardrenched face with my knuckles, feeling my dirty fingers draw lines of grime across my cheek. I stare numbly at the gravestone. The wind blowing through the grass whispers Draco's name. I fight to focus on that instead of on the falling rain, the sharp thuds marking every second of our time together, falling into oblivion.

"I won't forget." I whisper into the rain, waiting for an answer.

Waiting for my absolution.

_finis._


End file.
